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THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

BY  WILLIAM  NORTH. 


THE 


SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 


31  |)o3tjjumou0  JIodeI. 


BY   WILLIAM   NOirni, 

AUTHOE  OF  ANTI-CONINGSBT,  ETC. 


"who  will  exciiangk  old  lamps  for  new?" 

•  Arabian  Nights'  Ent«rtainme&to. 


KEW    YOEK: 

H.  LONG  &  BROTHER,   121    NASSAU-STREET. 

1855. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  One  Thousand  Eight  Hundred 
and  Fifty-five,  by  H.  LONG  &  BROTHER,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District 
Court  of  the  United  States,  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


TAWS,  RUSSELL  A  CO., 

PRINTERS. 
86  Beekman  ami  IS  Spruce  St. 


PREFACE 


The  prcflice  to  a  new  book  is  usually  radiant  w^ih  words 
of  Gladness  and  Hope,  This  must  be  one  of  privilege  and 
sorrow.        '  -     -     ,r 

The  brain  that  conceived,  and  the  hand  that  penned  the 
"  Slave  of  the  Lamp,"  are  now  mouldering  beneath  the 
turf  in  Greenwood  Cemeterv. 

On  the  14th  of  November,  1854,  the  author  of  this 
volume  was  found  in  his  chamber,  a  corpse.  A  bottle 
standing  on  the  table — beside  the  last  pages  of  this  novel — 
indicated  too  sadly  how  he  had  left  the  world.  The  coroner 
called  it  death  by  Prussic  acid ;  death  by  disappomtment 
would  have  been  the  better  verdict.  He  bade  farewell  to 
his  friends  in  rapid  interviews  preceding  the  event.  Others 
whom  he  could  not  see  he  wrote  to,  lovingly  and  kindly. 
Whilst  with  one  hand  he  clutched  the  boney  fingers  of  death, 
the  other  was  extended  in  Friendship.  He  died  not  madly, 
but  calmly  iu  sorrow,  in  disappointment,  and  in  poverty. 


;/ 


viil  PREFACE. 

Known  since  his  early  manhood  to  the  British  public  as  $ 
writer  of  considerable  talent,  "William  North  arrived  in  this 
country  only  some  two  years  ago,  his  soul  glowing  with  an 
ardent  but  strangely  erratic  love  of  liberty,  and  his  wild 
dreams  with  regard  to  this  sentiment,  he  fondly  hoped  to 
find  realized  in  America.  He  was  connected  by  the 
ties  of  consanguinity  with  the  Guildford  family,  one  of 
his  ancestors  being  Lord  North,  Earl  of  Guildford,  who 
figured  prominently  in  England,  during  the  period  of  the 
American  Revolution.  His  strong  democratic  feelings, 
estranged  him  from  his  family  connections  at  home,  and 
from  his  nineteenth  to  his  twenty-eighth  year,  he  appears  to 
have  led  a  strangely  isolated  life,  although  (during  this 
period,)  he  contributed  largely  to  the  English  periodicals, 
his  productions  exciting  much  attention  and  curiosity,  as  much 
from  the  originality  of  his  genius,  as  on  account  of  his 
strangely  mystical  style.  Before  he  had  completed  his 
twentieth  year,  he  wrote  and  published  a  political  novel, 
entitled  "  Anti-Coningsby,"  in  refutation  of  D'Israeli's 
"Cpningsby."  This  novel,  although  the  production  of  so 
young  a  man,  is  perhaps  the  most  forcible  of  all  his 
works. 

It  may  be  supposed  that  Mr.  North  derived  considerable 
pecuniary  emolument  from  this  work,  which  at  that  early 
age,  established  his  fame  as  an  author.  Whether  he  did,  or 
not,  we  cannot  say.  At  this  period  of  his  life,  however, 
money  was  a  secondary  object  with  him.  He  was  possessed 
of  some  property  in  his  own  right,  but  with  the  proverbial 


PREFACE.  IX 

indiscretion  of  men  of  his  peculiar  temperament,  this  was 
soon  squandered,  lent,  or  given  away. 

Although  he  published  numerous  books  in  England,  and 
was  coimected  with  various  popular  periodicals,  at  different 
times,  he  does  not  appear  to  have  reaped  much  pecuniary- 
benefit  from  his  labors.  His  productions  were  highly 
prized  by  such  as  could  understand,  and  sympathize  with 
the  feelings  of  the  author ;  but  his  style  was  too  strongly 
embued  with  German  metaphysics  to  become  popular  with 
the  majority  of  readers.  • 

He  had  been  educated  in  a  German  university,  and  his 
mind  had  become  morbidly  impressed '  with  the  peculiar 
doctrines,  inculcated  in  those  places  of  education. 

After  struggling  with  adverse  circumstances  for  many 
years  in  England,  he  came,  as  we  have  stated,  about  two 
years  ago,  to  this  country,  and  upon  his  arrival,  immediately 
sought  literary  employment.  He  was  successful,  and  at 
different  times,  contributed  largely  to  various  periodicals. 
In  Harper's  Magazine,  a  story  from  his  pen  appeared, 
entitled  "The  Usurer's  Gift."  In  the  Knickerbocker, 
"Blondine,"  "Brunette,"  "My  Ghost,"  and  "The  Man 
that  Married  his  Grandmother,"  and  in  Graham's  Magazine, 
a  tale,  entitled  the  "  Phantom  World."  He  Avrote  also  for 
the  Whig  Review,  and  other  periodicals ;  and  at  Burton's 
Theatre,  brought  out  a  farce  called  "  The  Automaton  Man," 
which  was  highly  successful.  All  this  literary  labor  was 
accomplished  while  Mr.  North  was  also  engaged  as  a  writer 
for  the  public  press ;  but  it  appears  that  his  pecuniary  success 


X  PREFACE. 

was  not  equal  to  his  anticipations,  notwithstanding  the 
popularity  of  his  contributions.  The  pressure,  not  perhaps 
of  actual  poverty,  but  of  continuous  necessity,  added  to  the 
mental  distress  consequent  upon  an  hopeless  attachment, 
proved  too  much  for  his  singularly  sensitive  nature.  He 
had  peculiar  notions  of  suicide,  the  result  partially,  of  his 
early  education;  and  at  length,  impelled  perhaps  by  a 
morbid  sensitiveness,  he  released  his  spirit  from  its  mortal 
bondage,  and  dismissed  it  into  that  eternal  world,  which  had 
solong  been  the  subject  of  its  mystic  broodings. 

In  a  letter  now  before  us,  written  by  Mr.  North  the  day 
before  he  committed  the  fearful  act,  occurs  the  following 
passage.  He  is  lamenting  the  failure  of  one  of  his  fondest 
hopes,  and  observes — 

"  An  inseparable  barrier  existed  between  us.  What  was 
left  to  me  ?  I  had  seen  Paradise  :  the  portals  were  eternally 
closed  to  me.     I  could  but  die. 

"  To  me — philosopher  and  poet,  of  a  school  yet  in  its 
infancy ;  the  school  of  passional,  intellectual,  and  moral 
harmony — the  idea  was  natural.     I  never  feared  death." 

In  another  letter,  having  special  allusion  to  this  his  last 
novel,  he  says — 

"  I  have  written  what  I  believed  it  best  to  write,  and  what 
I  believed,  myself,  I  could  write  best. 

'*  Such  as  my  work  is,  I  commend  it  more  especially  to 
the  young  and  true-hearted  sons  of  America.  I  am  neither 
a  Bulwer  nor  a  Dickens,  yet,  in  one  respect,  I  feel  myself 
to  enjoy  an  advantage  over  either — I  live  in  a  free  country. 


PREFACE.  ..  xi 

It  is  only  in  an  atmosphere  of  freedom,  that  we  can  indeed 
think  freely,  as  freely,  as  I,  the  poor,  -vveary  literary  adven- 
turer have  taken  the  liberty  of  writing ;  and  the  history  of 
A  Slave  of  the  Lamp,  despising  humbug,  and  owning  a  yet 
unshaken  fliith  in  the  heroic  and  the  beautiful,  may  not 
appear  mal-ajyropos.^^ 

With  a  few  unavoidable  exceptions  the  characters  in  this 
book  have  orignals  in  real  life.  The  strong  appeals — with 
which  it  abounds — for  the  literateur  and  the  inventor,  have 
been  elicited  by  a  personal  knowledge  of  the  miseries,  humi- 
liations, and  hardships  those  ennoblers  of  a  country  have  to 
endure.  Neglect  too  often,  and  in  all  countries,  is  a  condi- 
tion of  genius.  The  absence  of  proper  legal  protection 
makes  it  peculiarly  irksome  here.  Mr.  North's  memory 
will  be  respected  for  the  able  manner  in  which  he  has  urged 
this  neglected  fact  in  the  present  novel. 

Li  works  of  an  autobiographical  character  the  hero  is 
generally  (rightly  or  not)  associated  in  some  indiscribable 
way  with  the  author.  lu  the  character  of  Dudley  Mondel, 
Mr.  North  undoubtedly  gives  us  glimpses  of  himself,  but  not 
sufficiently  to  make  author  and  hero  identical.  It  is  hard  to 
find  a  hero  in  braadcloth,  and  to  himself  a  man  never  seems 
heroical.  The  best  among  us  Avould  need  the  herghtening 
touch  of  the  romancist  to  be  attractive  from  the  cold  pages 
of  a  book.  Wlulst  therefore,  there  is  much  curious  thouaht 
that  may  be  traced  to  the  idiosyncrasy  of  William  North, 
the  reader  is  requested  to  remember  that  there  is  more 
mere  personality  that  owes  its  origin  purely  to  the  fictitious 


XU  PREFACE. 

Dudley  Mondell.  In  the  incidental  memoirs  of  the  hero, 
(page  238),  Mr.  North  undoubtedly  speaks  mostly  of  him- 
self and  his  family.  That  section  of  the  present  work  will 
be  found  of  no  ordinary  character.  Simply  as  a  work  of  art 
it  is  remarkable.  For  pureness  of  style,  elegance  of  diction, 
and  force  of  thought,  it  has  seldom,  if  ever,  been  surpassed. 

It  will  not  escape  the  careful  reader,  that  this  novel  is 
eminently  thoughtful.  William  North  was  essentially  a 
thinker,  and  like  other  thinkers  on  abstract  matters,  was  not 
always  right.  There  is  much  profitable  reading  in  this 
volume,  and  of  a  kind  not  often  found  in  novels.  Many  of 
the  ideas  are  of  startling  boldness,  particularly  those  relating 
to  the  inventions  and  progress  of  the  future.  In  the  latter 
part  of  the  work,  however,  there  are  some  theological 
speculations  wliich  bear  their  own  extravagance  on  the  face 
of  them.  As  a  whole,  this  last  prose  work  is  no  unworthy 
offering  to  America.  It  breathes  throughout  the  national 
sentiment,  and  without  bemg  gaseous,  is  patriotic  in  the  best 
sense  of  the  word.  It  is  also  sincere,  written  perhaps,  in 
excitement,  but  the  excitement  of  doing  good. 


CONTENTS.    ^'/ 


Preface, 

• 

I. 

Underground, 

m'' 

II. 

Lucifer,         .             .             .    . 

• 

III. 

, 

Aboveground,      .            .            . 

;  *: 

IV. 

Peregrine  Cope, 

•  •• 

V. 

TlTZQAMMON   O'BOUNCEB,  . 

• 

VI. 

The  Plot,      .            .            ,       • 

'  '^  .' 

VII. 

The  Eotv, 

• 

VIII. 

'  : 

A  CuRioua  Girl,     ",           .'      . 

.  ■  i     ■    J   '"' 

7 
17 
32 
37 
54 

62 

71 

79 
89 


XIY 

CONTENTS. 

IX. 

In  Love, 

• 

•                      • 

X. 

How  TO  Make  Money, 

• 

XI. 

Strange  Talk, 

• 

•                          • 

XII. 

More  Love, 

«                          • 

XIII. 

Green-Eyed  Nemesis, 

•                          • 

XIV. 

The  Sick  Man,    . 

•                          • 

XV. 

Chaos, 

• 

•                          • 

XVI. 

The  Judas  Kiss,  . 

•                          • 

XVII. 

Life  and  Death, 

• 

•                          « 

XVIII. 

The  Gamblers,     . 

•                          • 

107 


115 
.  129 

136 
.  146 

157 
.  165 

170 

.  177 

188 
XIX. 
Old  Latitude  and  Longitude,   .     ,     .196 

XX. 
Gold,   ......     204 

XXI. 

The  Beggar  and  the  Poet,     .     .     .211 


CONTENTS.    .. 

XV 

XXII.    .      , 

■  "*     •  ■ 

Peter  Quartz,           .            ■...': 

:-.  ,  219 

'XXIII. 

^ 

.     J 

The  Ship  of  Mondel,   .             .            V 

V     228 

XXIV.  «'       - 

\    • 

The  Farewell  Present,       .           . ,    ■; 

.    S34 

XXV. 

—   '       ' .  ' 

Memoirs  of  Dudley  Mondel's  Youth, 

« 

>^238 

,      XXVI. 

Misfortune,  .             .             .             .  "  -  • 

•  '   '"    , 

.    303 

XXVII. 

, 

The  Voyage  to  the  Golden  Island,    . 

"^     '  i  ." 

375 

XXVIII. 

■     . 

- 

Mutiny,          .... 

• 

.     390 

■         "    XXIX. 

e          -        '    ' " 

1  • 

Berkely  Married, 

•     ■ 

404 

XXX. 

The  Fair  Slave  of  the  Lamp, 

• 

.     410 

XXXI. 

Reconciliation, 

• 

\  423 

XXXII. 

Conclusion,  . 

C 

.     429 

THE    SLAYE   OE  THE    LAMP. 


BOOK    I. 


CHAPTEE   I 


TJNDEKGEOmn). 


KoT  far  from  tlie  celebrated  Toiribs — a  modern 
Egyptian  temple  devoted  to  the  custody  of  ISTew  York 
law-breakers — dowTi  a  street  chiefly  remarkable  for 
the  irregularity  of  its  pavement  and  the  poverty  of 
its  inhabitants,  three  men  were  eating  oysters  in  a 
cellar. 

In  the  city  alluded  to — a  city  of  which,  probably, 
many  of  my  readers  have  heard — oyster  eating  is 
mostly  a  subterranean  process.      '        ••    "    -  - 

"Whether  the  consumption  of  that  particular  shell- 
tish  is  considered  too  mysterious  and  awful  a  ceremony 
to  be  carried  on  universally  in  broad  daylight,  or 
whether  oysters  are  supposed  to  taste  better  by  gas- 
light than  in  the  glare  of  sunshine,  we  know  not; 


18  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 

■we  can  only  testify  to  the  fact,  and  record  it  for  the 
instruction  of  futm-e  ages.  Cellars  and  oysters  are,  in 
'New  York,  like  the  ex-republic  of  France,  one  and 
indivisible.  Tliose  who  profanely  eat  oysters  above 
ground  feel  the  proceeding  to  be,  at  best,  inconsistent 
and  unsatisfactory.  The  oyster  is  naturally  a  thing 
of  darkness.  Oysters  were  evidently  not  created  to 
be  looked  at,  but  to  be  swallowed  with  the  faith  of 
unwavering  fanaticism  and  "  no  questions  asked." 
Even  to  this  day,  after  eight  and  twenty  years  sad 
experience  of  the  world  and  its  fishes,  I  swallow  a  raw 
oyster  with  a  strange  mingling  of  horror  and  appetite 
— such  as,  I  fancy,  I  should  feel  if  taken  prisoner  in 
Africa,  and  forced  to  marry  the  Queen  of  the  Hotten- 
tots under  penalty  of  being  immediately  given  to  her 
majesty's  pet  boa-constrictor  for  supper. 

Strangely  enough,  in  that  same  city  of  New  York, 
oysters  and  theatrical  criticism  are  supposed  to  go 
together ;  and  the  critic,  like  the  oyster,  is  thought  to 
prefer  to  all  other  resorts,  the  semi-obscurity  and 
mystery  of  a  restaurant-catacomb  for  the  preparation 
of  those  shadowy  accusations,  which  he  is  for  ever 
throwing,  like  the  Yenetians  of  old,  into  the  oj^en 
lion's  mouth  of  a  theatre-going  and  oyster-eating 
public. 

But  the  three  men,  of  whom  I  am  about  to  speak, 
were    no    oyster    critics,  except  in  the  plain  and 


TTNDEKGEOIINT).  ^19 

unpoetical  sense  of  simple  critics  of  oysters.  JSTeitlier 
was  the  subterranean  saloon  (or,  as  its  frequenters 
classically  termed  it,  "  the  dive")  in  which  they  were 
seated  by  any  means  one  of  those  luxurious  establish- 
ments with  which  many  of  my  male  readers  arc 
familiar.  Ko  splendid  carved  and  gilded  bar  was 
there,  glittering,  like  a  diamond  necklace,  with  crystal 
bottles  and  glasses,  and  lumps  of  ice  plunged  into 
ruby  and  amber  drinks,  relieved  by  dripping  tufts  of 
emerald  mint.  ISTo  velvet-cushioned  boxes,  in  which, 
as  in  a  private  cave,  snug  parties  of  convivialists  are 
protected  by  curtains  and  blind  from  the  curiosity  of 
stray  outsiders.  No  well-dressed  loungers,  no  gas,  no 
mirrors  were  there.  It  was  a  place  in  which  three 
men  were  rudely  eating  oysters  by  the  dubious  light  of 
a  three-wicked  pewter  caraphene  lamp,  in  a  straight- 
forward unpretending  manner,  each  one  opening  for 
himself,  and  leaving  his  companions  to  do  the  same. 
In  a  word,  it  was  a  cheap  edition  of  liberty  hall,  if  ever 
such  a  hall  existed,  or  could  be  imagined  to  exist,  in 
the  shape  of  a  cellar,  with  a  ceiling  smoked  as  black  as 
General  Cass's  old  hat  (lately  exhibited  at  a  hatter's 
in  Fourth  Street,  Cincinnati,  corner  of  Main  Street,  as 
I  can  personally  testify),  and  with  an  extemporised 
table,  and  three  rascally  old  cane-bottomed  chairs  for 
furniture.  .       ,  '         ; 

The  table,  which  was  supported  by  three  small 


20  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP, 

casks,  and  notched  at  the  edge  like  a  saw,  having 
been  originally  a  door,  was  remarkably  solid  in  its 
construction.  Tliis  table,  or  ex-door,  supported  by 
way  of  centre-piece  the  basket  of  oysters  from  which 
the  three  hons  vivants  were  helping  themselves, 
pleasantly  throwing  the  shells  on  the  floor,  and  dip- 
ping their  oysters  into  the  saucers  of  salt  and  red 
pepper,  with  a  disregard  of  etiquette,  as  natural  as  it 
was  congenial.  On  the  fourth  or  unoccupied  side  of 
the  table  stood,  like  so  many  soldiers,  a  double  row 
of  bottles,  containing  Philadelphia  ale  and  porter  in 
equal  measure.  A  large  paper  of  quadrangular 
crackers,  torn  open  for  convenience  of  access  at  both 
ends,  completed  the  festive  arrangements.  And  now, 
having  set  the  table,  I  shall  at  once  proceed  to  intro- 
duce the  guests,  who  may,  perhaps,  prove  more  inte- 
resting company  than  oysters,  which  are  proverbially 
mute,  and  moreover,  according  to  naturalists,  crea- 
tures on  the  very  lowest  steps  of  the  great  spiral  stair 
case  of  creative  development. 

From  oysters,  then,  we  proceed  naturally  to  the 
eaters  of  oysters. 

IsTow  the  three  oyster-eaters  in  question,  were  by 
no  means  the  sort  of  people  a  respectable  clergyman 
would  select  as  intimate  friends,  or  a  wealthy  mer- 
chant be  apt  to  choose  as  partners  in  business,  nor 
could  they  in  any  light  be,  strictly  speaking,  regarded 


i< ' 


UNDERCKOnSfD.  '  :.  21 

as  very  eligible  acquaintances.  Still  tliey  were  "  men 
and  brothers,"  and  would  have  been  fellow-Christians 
had  they  believed  in  any  religion  at  all. 

Possibly  the  reader  never  heard  of  them.  As, 
however,  I  abominate  clap-trap  and  humbug  in  litera- 
tui'e  as  in  life,  I  shall  at  once  and  unaffectedly  state 
that  these  three  obscure  celebrities  were  neither  more 
nor  less  than  those,  to  their  own  set  illustrious,  vaga- 
bonds, loiown  by  the  initiated  as — • 

1.  Confidence  Bob. 

2.  The  Slinker.        " 

3.  The  Perfessor,  or  professor  (the  former  pronun- 
ciation was  the  more  fashionable  amongst  his  friends, 
though,  on  the  score  of  orthography,  perhaps  objec- 
tionable). 

Confidence  Bob,  or,  as  he  otherwise  styled  himself, 
Mr.  Robert  Mombcross — probably  a  lineal  descend- 
ant of  the  impenitent  thief — was  a  well-shaven  per- 
sonage witli  dark  curling  hair,  a  round,  good-tem- 
pered face,  very  black  eyes,  and  a  costume  consisting 
of  a  very  short  blue  coat  (of  which  he  facetiously 
observed  that  it  would  be  long  enough  before  he  got 
another),  a  pair  of  fashionable  cross-barred  pantaloons, 
and  a  maroon-colored  satin  waistcoat  with  gilt  but- 
tons, altogether,  in  the  eyes  of  the  general  public, 
"  considerable  of  a  swell."  lie  had  new  and  very 
highly  varnished    shoes,   copies   of  which  may   bo 


22  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   I  AMP. 

obtained  for  the  sura  of  one  dollar  and  fifty  cents,  in 
Greenwich  street  or  the  Bowery.  He  had  also  a 
very  shiny  shirt-collar  (glazed  with  gum),  which  in 
fact  he  had  purchased,  with  a  view  to  appearances, 
that  very  afternoon  at  a  hosier's  near  the  corner  of 
Fulton  street. 

This  charming  cavalier,  who  (in  his  own  opinion) 
was  "got  up"  somewhat  in  the  style  of  the  London 
and  Parisian  aristocracy,  showed  great  science  in 
knocking  off  the  necks  of  the  ale  bottles  with  his 
knife,  just  as  a  Turkish  executioner  is  supposed,  by 
students  of  the  "Arabian  Nights,"  and  other  great 
Oriental  authorities,  to  behead  a  fated  prisoner  at  one 
blow  of  his  glittering  Damascus  sabre. 

The  absence  of  such  trifling  luxuries  as  corkscrews 
and  tumblei*s,  rendered  this  a  useful  accomplishment 
under  the  circumstances. 

The  Slinker,  who,  if  he  had  any  other  name,  bap- 
tismal or  genealogical,  never  could  get  any  of  his 
friends  to  acknowledge  it,  was  a  little  thin  starveling 
man,  with  small  eyes,  red  hair,  and  a  nose  like  the 
beak  of  a  sparrow.  He  swallowed  his  oysters  in  a 
stealthy  and  voracious  manner,  as  if  to  make  sure  of 
his  portion,  and  seemed  to  observe  his  companions 
with  a  timidly  susj^icious  air ;  more  especially  he 
glanced  with  an  imploring  sense  of  inferiority  towards 
the  Professor,  who,  in  return,  regarded  the  Slinker 


UNDERGROUND.  23 

with  a  contemptuous  patronage,  worthy  of  a  great 
tragedian,  or  a  modern  military  despot. 

The  Slinker's  attire  commenced  with  a  greasy, 
napless  hat,  worn,  like  the  famous  falling  tower  of 
Pisa,  at  a  considerable  incline  from  the  perpendi- 
cular. Next  came,  undivided  by  even  the  narrowest 
parapet  of  linen,  a  dirty  blue  silk  handkerchief 
with  yellow  spots,  followed  by  a  black  dress  coat  of 
the  last  year  but  twenty's  fashion,  which  showed 
strong  signs  of  having  been  prematurely  brushed  to 
death  in  its  youth.  It  was  a  threadbare  old  corj)se 
of  a  coat,  and  the  eye  was  refreshed  by  escaping 
from  its  contemplation  to  that  of  his  trowsei-s,  which 
were  of  a  pea-green  color  faded  to  a  grassy  yellow. 
These  failed  utterly  to  meet  his  shoes,  split  equally 
over  the  little  toes,  and  as  innocent  of  blacking  as 
the  paws  of  a  polar  bear.  His  hands  were  long, 
venous,  and  bony,  resembling  the  claws  of  some 
queer  bird,  whilst  his  complexion  was  of  a  brownish 
yellow,  with  a  sprinkling  of  brick-dust  on  the  cheeks 
and  nose.  The  cuffs  of  his  coat,  and  indeed  his  di-ess 
generally,  were  here  and  there  stained  with  tobacco- 
juice.  Taken  altogether,  he  would  have  cut  rather  a 
queer  figure  at  a  fashionable  party.  .       ,-..', 

The  Professor,  sometimes  called  Jack  Rivers  on 
the  covers  of  epistolary  communications,  was  a  man 
of  a  very  difiercnt  stamp.     lie  was  broad-shouldered, 


24  THE    SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 

deep-chested,  witli  a  head  like  a  low-browed  and 
brutal  I^Tapoleon,  iron-jawed,  long-armed,  short- 
legged,  jet  of  fully  medium  stature.  His  complexion 
was  bronzed  and  coppered  almost  to  the  hue  of  an 
Indian'fi.  His  eyes  were  of  a  greenish  hazel,  that 
flashed  animal  courage  and  latent  ferocity.  Such 
was  the  man  who  sat  there,  at  once  the  admiration 
and  terror  of  his  two  weaker  comrades. 

In  man,  as  shown  by  Lavater,  re-appear  the  types 
of  all  other  animals.  We  involuntarily  associate  one 
man  with  the  fox,  and  one  with  the  sheep,  another 
with  the  tiger,  a  fourth  with  the  goat,  I  have  fre- 
quently seen  very  pretty  girls  who  irresistibly  remind- 
ed me  of  greyhounds,  cats,  sparrows,  or  kangaroos. 

The  Professor  was  of  the  lion  genus.  Although  of 
European  birth,  he  might  have  been  compared  to  the 
supple  black  lion  of  South  America ;  Confidence 
Bob  was  more  like  a  large  black  dog ;  and  the  Slinker 
was  evidently  a  carrion  crow,  with  a  dash  of  the 
jackal  in  his  composition. 

A  Brahmin — and  who  knows  but  what  I  am  a  dis- 
ciple of  the  Vedas  myself — would  have  given  good 
reasons  for  these  fanciful  resemblances. 

"Well,  Slinker,"  said  the  Professor,  throwing  his 
last  oyster-shell  over  his  shoulder,  and  decapitating  a 
bottle  of  porter  with  even  greater  dexterity  than  Mr. 
Mombcross  (alias  Confidence  Bob),  "  How's  trade  ?" 


UNDEKGROUND.  _     26 

"Weny  poor;"  said  the  Slinker,  in  a  wliining 
voice  like  a  wliipt  cat's,  looking  all  the  while  at  the 
oyster-shells  on  the  floor  as  if  in  search  of  pearls, 
"  weny  poor,  honlj  vmi  shorl,  two  boys'  clokes  (vurth 
nex'  ter  nnffin),  and  ahimitation  bamboo  valkin  stick 
with  a  gilt  'ed.  The  'all  Im-k  is  a  gitten  ter  be  a 
worry  hunprofiterbnl  bisnis.  People  locks  their 
parlors,  and  gents  gits  shy  of  'angin  up  their  coats 
down  stairs  in  the  'alls.  Humberellers  is  a  drug 
now  as  the  vinter's  hover,  and  valkin  canes  with  gold 
'eds  is  gone  houtcr  fashun," 

"  Nothing  else  ?"  said  the  Professor,  to  whom  this 
strange  dialect  of  the  native  cockney  was  perfectly 
familiar.  •     _ 

"  ]^uflin,  s'elp  me  baccy  ?"  •  . 

"  Means  Bacchus,  Slinker  does,"  remarked  Confi- 
dence Bob,  as  if  making  the  explanation  for  his  own 
private  satisfaction,  and  by  no  means  with  any  vain 
idea  of  imparting  useful  information  to  his  com- 
panions. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what.  Confidence,"  said  the  Professor, 
fixing  his  keen  eyes  upon  the  Shnker,  "  if  he  aint 
lying  at  this  particular  date,  he's  at  any  rate  prevari- 
cating like  a  corkscrew.  Why  don't  he  look  a  cove 
in  the  mug  when  he  cants  ?  why,  because  he's  a  gal- 
vanized squirt,  and  as  the  parson  said,  the  b'ath  aint 
in  him." 


26  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

"There  8  not  room  for  it,"  said  Confidence  Bob, 
"he's  so  darned  thin!  Besides  he's  the  only  son  of 
the  man  who  told  a  lie  the  fust  words  he  spoke,  and 
never  spoke  another  afterwards!" 

"  You're  hollers  at  me  with  yer  stoopid  Yankee 
jokes ;"  muttered  the  Slinker,  looking  angrily  at  Bob, 
and  appealingly  towards  the  Professor.  "  I  vish  Md 
never  hemmergrated  to  this  'ere  beast  of  a  country, 
I  do  by !" 

"  Oh,  you  go  to  blazes  !"  said  the  Professor,  with  a 
broad  grin;  "  you  know  very  well  you  only  cut  Lon- 
don because  you  were  so  well  known  to  the  peelers 
you  didn't  dare  to  stop.  What  a  pity  you  didn't 
learn  English  before  you  left.  They  don't  understand 
the  cockney  lingo  here." 

"  I  vish  I  'ad  your  edication,  Perfessor,"  said  the 
Slinker,  with  mock  humility. 

"  Education,  indeed !"  growled  the  Professor.  "  A 
nice  education  I  had,  and  a  nice  position  it  has  given 
me!" 

"  Learning  to  sign  one's  name,"  observed  Confi- 
dence Bob,  sentimentally,  "too  often  leads  to  a 
fellow's  signing  somebody  else's.  It  is  the  first  step 
that  comits,  as  I've  heard  say  in  French,  though  I 
can't  recollect  the  exact  European  of  it  at  the 
?noment." 

"  Kow,  Slinker,"  resumed  the  Professor,  whilst  Con- 


UNDEKGEOUND.  27 

fidence  Bob  playfully  made  a  lunge  at  that  gentle- 
man with  an  oyster-knife,  thereby  causing  him  to  col- 
lapse in  sudden  terror;  " now,  Slinher,  what  else  did 
you  do  to-day  ?"       • 

"  JSTuffin,  Perfessor,"  said  the  Slinkcr,  again 
intently  studying  the  saucer  of  red  pepper. 

"  Don't  chafi'  me^  Slinker,"  growled  his  pitiless 
interrogator.  "  Do  you  think  I  don't  read  yom- 
miserable  soul  like  a  four-yard  poster  ?  What  else 
did  you  do  ?  I  say,  and  remember  I'm  in  a  hurry!" 

"  Out  with  it,  old  bird  1  don't  chaff  the  Professor," 
put  in  Confidence.  "  What  we  want  is  facts,  which, 
according  to  scholars,  are  the  foundation  of  all  real 
scientific  information." 

"Well,"  said  the  much  oppressed  Slinker,  who, 
under  the  eye  of  the  Professor,  was  like  a  bird  mag- 
netised by  a  serpent — "I  got  these,;''''  and  he  reluct- 
antly extended  a  bunch  of  keys,  with  a  strong  steel 
ring,  to  the  Professor. 

"Where  from?" 
" "  Sixteenth  street." 

"How?" 

"  From  a  coat  pocket." 

"Whose?" 

"  Mr.  Simpkins,  the  broker's.'' 

"  What  did  yon  mean  to  do  with  them  ?  Wait  for 
the  reward  in  the  advertisement,  eh  ?" 


28  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 

The  Slinker's  downcast  eyes  seemed  tacitly  to 
admit  tliat  lie  had  been  guilty  of  the  meanness  of 
contemplating  that  course  of  action. 

"  Humph  I  a  rich  broker's  ?"  muttered  the  Profes- 
sor, playing  with  the  keys,  and  apparently  engaged  in 
some  profoundly  important  calculation. 

"  You  surely  don't  think  of — of " 

"  Of  business  again  ?"  broke  in  Bob. 

"No — no,"  said  the  Professor,  as  if  reluctantly 
giving  up  a  pleasant  scheme ;  "  no,  I  will  not  be 
tempted.  I  mean  to  give  up  the  line."  And  Mr. 
John  Rivers  disdainfully  threw  back  the  bunch  of 
keys  to  the  Slinker,  who  eagerly  thrust  them  into  his 
pocket. 

"  To  give  it  up!"  exclaimed  Bob. 

"  Give  it  up !"  whined  the  Slinker. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Professor,  "  I've  seen  the  inside 
of  more  stone  jugs  than  one,  and  made  a  trip  to  Aus- 
tralia once  at  the  Queen  of  England's  particular 
request,  and  at  the  British  Government's  expense.  In 
my  time,  and  I'm  now  close  on  forty,  I've  introduced 
myself  into  more  first-rate  houses  than  I  can  well 
recollect,  and  done  business  in  more  towns  than  I 
want  to  count,  and  I'm  getting  pretty  tired  of  risking 
my  life  for  a  few  bits  of  yellovf ,  and  skulking  about 
the  streets,  like  a  dog  that  has  lost  its  master.  Here 
I'm  not  known  yet.    I've  done  little,  and  never  been 


UKDEEGKOHND.  29 

aab'bed.  So  I  tidnk  whilst  there's  time  I'll  turn  over 
a  new  leaf,  auci  refi/nn,.  That's  what  i  mean  to  do , 
and  i  advise  you  two  to  do  the  same,  and  go  in  for 
something  that's  gentlemanly  and  respectable,  at 
once."  . 

"  Reform,  guv'ner  V  squeaked  the  Slinker,  in  an 
almost  inaudible  tone. 

"Reform?"  queried  Confidence,  in  equal  amaze- 
ment. 

"  Yes,  reform,  by  G !"  reiterated  the  Professor, 

coolly.  "  ISTow,  mark  me,  you.  Confidence,  and  you, 
Slinker  1  I'm  going  to  make  you  partners  in  the  spe- 
culation ;  but,  by  the  Eternal !  if  either  of  you  are 
caught  and  peach,  and  you  are  to  be  shot  in  the  very 
cells  of  Sing  Sing,  it  will  be  done.  You  are  dealing 
with  two  men  who  stand  no  nonsense,  and  forgive  no 
weakness.     You  know  me .'" 

"  And  the  other,"  said  Confidence  Bob,  suspicious- 
ly, "  who  is  your  friend  V 

"Yes,  who  is  he?"  snivelled  the  obsequious  Shnker, 
like  an  ill-conditioned  echo. 

"  Our  master — a  realho^Q  and  no  mistake  !"  replied 
the  Professor,  with  impressive  emphasis ;  "  the  pro- 
fessor of  pugilism  and  house-breaking  in  all  their 
branches." 

At  this  moment,  there  was  a  single,  heav^^,  dull 
knock  at  the  door  of  the  ceUai*. 


80  TTiK   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

"'Itere  he  'f^f*'  said  the  Professor,  with  a  start. 
^*  lilind,  he  does  not  relish  joking,  so  treat  him  like  a 
gentleman — do  yon  hear  ?" 

"Bnt,  who  is  he?"  again  asked  Confidence, 
cnriouslj. 

"  He  is  the  ■ — ■  Alteree  !"  replied  the  Professor, 
beginning  to  unbar  the  door  at  a  second  impatient 
summons  of  his  visitor. 

"  The  Devil !"  exclaimed  Confidence,  who  seemed 
wonderfully  impressed  by  the  strange  cognomen. 

"  A  near  relative,"  muttered  the  Professor,  "  and 
that's  a  fact." 

As  for  the  Slinker,  he  felt  very  much  like  a  fifteenth- 
rate  poet  about  to  be  introduced  to  Alfred  TennysoUj 
or  M.  de  Lamartine ;  or  like  an  unpaid  attache  on  the 
verge  of  a  presentation  to  Lord  Palmerston,  oi 
Prince  Mettemich. 

By  this  time,  the  Professor  had  opened  the  door, 
and  admitted  a  man  in  black,  with  a  pale,  thin  face, 
and  eyes  that  glittered  like  two  stars,  not  with  actual 
light,  but  with  that  redundant  electric  vitality,  which 
at  once  makes  itself  felt  by  those  on  whom  it  rests,  as 
the  indications  of  an  internal  force  of  which  it  is  the 
sign  and  the  manifestation. 

"Good  evening,  Professor,"  said  the  stranger. 
"  Gentlemen,  good  evening.  I  drink  to  our  better 
acquaintance !"    And,  calmly  taking  one  of  the  bot- 


THSTDEEGEOHND.  '  31 

ties,  the  mysterious  new  comer,  at  one  blow  against 
the  edge  of  the  table,  removed  its  neck,  and,  to  the 
intense  admiration  of  the  three  spectators  of  the  feat, 
di-ank  up  its  contents  at  a  draught.  "  And  now  to 
business,"  he  resumed.  "  You  are  all  rich  men,  if 
true  to  me,  and  dead  men,  if  you  betray  me ;"  and, 
placing  his  hand  in  his  bosom,  the  outline  of  a 
revolver  became  visible,  at  which  the  Professor  alone 
glanced  with  a  smile  of  sincere  and  sympathetic 
satisfaction. 


# 


32  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE  LAMP. 


CHAPTEE    II. 

LtrCIFEE. 

"  Take  a  cliair,  Mr. Mr.  —  ?"    Confidence  Bob 

paused  inteiTogatively. 

"Ltjcifee,"  said  tlie  stranger  sliai-ply,  "if  you 
needs  must  have  a  name ;"  and  Lie  bent  a  searcliing 
glance  upon  tlie  questioner,  'wliicb.  made  tbat  self- 
possessed,  personage  feel  a  momentary  doubt  whether 
or  not  the  devil  had  not  sought  an  interview  with 
him  in  reahty. 

"Lucifer?"  echoed  the  Shnker  with  involuntary 
amazement,  "  Lucifer !" 

"  One  name  is  as  good  as  another ;"  said  the 
Alterer,  with  sudden  calmness;  "and  Lucifer  will 
suit  me  as  well  as  any." 

"  Better,"  said  the  Professor ;  "  for  the  Prince  of 
Darkness  himself  would  have  to  knock  under  to  you 
in  the  altering  business !" 

"  You  shall  be  my  prime  minister,"  said  Lucifer, 
turning  his  pale  face  and  flashing  eyes  towards  the 
Professor,  with  a  gi-im  approval  of  his  flattery,  "  and 


LUCIFEE.  33 

these  gentlemen  your  secretaries.  In  my  character 
as  an  infernal  potentate,  I  shall  necessarily  appear  but 
rarely.  To  you,  therefore,  Professor,  I  shall  entrust 
full  powers,  and  with  you  alone,  except  on  special 
occasions,  I  shall  communicate  " 

"  But  what  are  we  to  do  ?  what's  it  all  about  ?  how 
do  you  know  that  I  shall  go  into  it?"  said  Confidence 
Bob,  sulkily,  determined  to  show  his  very  distinct 
appreciation  of  his  own  personal  importance  to  the 
sti-anger. 

The  Slinker  looked  an  echo  to  these  queries.  Further 
he  dared  not  go,  so  deeply  was  he  impressed  by  the 
stern  and  resolute  aspect  of  the  Alterer. 

"  Do  they  know  who  I  am  ?"  said  Lucifer ;  again 
looking  sharply  into  the  eyes  of  his  introducer. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Professor,  "  I  have  told  them  that 
you — the  Alterer." 

"  Good  !"  said  the  stranger,  taking  out  a  pocket- 
book,  from  which  he  extracted  three  rolls  of  bankbills, 
which  he  handed  pohtely  to  tlie  three  men  respect- 
ively. "  Now  my  friends,"  said  he,  "  examine  those 
bills,  keep  those  which  are  good,  return  me  the  bad. 
Take  your  time,  look  at  them  well,  there  is  no  hurry." 

"  I  guess  the  whole  pile  are  bogus,"  muttered 
Confidence  Bob,  as  he  turned  over  his  roll. 

"  These  is  good,  at  any  rate,"  said  the  Slinker, 
"  has  for  the  rest,  they  arc  Indiana  money,  and  I  don't 

2* 


34  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

mucli  like  their  looks,  tho'  they  is  nncommou  well 
got  up,  by  Jingo  they  is !" . 

"  "What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Eivers?" 

"  "Well,"  said  the  Professor,  "I  confess  I'm  bothered, 
there  ain't  a  bill  in  my  hand,  I  would  not  have  taken 
of  any  one,  and  yet,  I  suppose  some  of  'em  are 
rum  uns  ;  but  I  can't  distinguish,  and  that's  a  fact.  I 
give  it  up,  as  the  boy  said  to  the  riddle  about  the 
door  that  wasn't  a  door ;  I'm  cust  if  I  can  twig  a  screw 
loose  anywhere,  though  I've  pretty  sharp  eyes  too  for 
the  scrieving  dodges !" 

"Humph!"  said  Lucifer,  "you  are  at  least  wise 
enough  to  know  your  own  ignorance.  As  for  your 
opinion,"  he  contmued,  addressing  Confidence  Bob, 
"  it  so  happens,  that  out  of  the  ten  bills  you  hold,  five 
are  genuine,  and  five  altered.  In  the  third  lot  (and 
he  turned  to  the  Slinker),  it  chances,  that  precisely  the 
Indiana  money  you  object  to,  is  the  only  good  paper 
in  your  hands.  Professor,"  he  continued  triumphantly, 
"  all  the  bills  you  have  examined,  are  from  my  work- 
shop. So  much  for  the  judgment  of  three  flash  men, 
suj^posed  to  know  the  ropes  as  well  as  any  in  IsTew 
York.  ISTow,  what  do  you  say  to  business.  My 
terms  are  one  dollar  in  five,  cash  down,  and  death 
to  traitors."  At  these  words,  the  stranger  looked 
steadily  for  a  few  seconds  at  Confidence  Bob  and  the 
Slinker  alternately,   until  even  the   former's  impu- 


LTJCIFEE.  •  do 

\ 

Jence  yielded,  and  his  eyes  fell  before  tlio  resolute 
and  inquisitorial  gaze  of  Lis  scrutinizer.  "  By  fol- 
lowing my  instructions,  detection  is  almost  impos- 
sible," completed  the  Alterer,  with  a  smile  of 
unexpected  amiability.  "  Once  a  fortnight  I  will  meet 
you,  or  at  any  rate,  Mr.  Rivers,   to   keep   uy>  the 

supplies .     For  the  present,    here  are  three 

hundred  banlvable  bills,  real  money,  redeemable  at 
par,  to  set  you  afloat  as  respectable  citizens.  By 
to-morrow  night,  the  Professor  will  bring  you  my 
instructions.  One  word  before  parting ;  should  you 
meet  me  anywhere,  under  any  circumstances,  we  are 
strangers — a  look  of  recognition  will  be  regarded  by 
me  as  a  premeditated  treachery.     Good  night !" 

And  making  an  amicable  sign  to  the  Professor  with 
his  hand,  the  mysterious  stranger  departed,  without 
fm-thcr  words,  leaving  the  two  subordinate  rascals 
in  a  state  of  utter  astonishment  and  confusion  of 
ideas. 

Every  class  of  crime  has  its  peculiar  horror;  and, 
to  the  illiterate  rogue,  the  man  who  uses  the  jpeii  as 
his  instrument,  inspires  a  more  irrestiblo  feeling  of 
awe,  than  the  most  daring  burglar  and  the  most 
adventurous  higiiwayman. 

"  Ain't  he  a  stunner  ?"  exclaimed  the  Professor, 
enthusiastically,  as  soon  as  the  door  had  fairly  closed' 
upon  the  retii-ing  figui-e  of  the  stranger. 


36  THE   BLAVE   Off  THE  XAMP. 

"  Won't  we  live?  that's  all !"  cried  tlie  Confidence 
man  suddenly,  seeing  open  before  Mm  an  existence 
of  Kitherto  nndreamed-of  luxury. 

"  Hain't  it  wery  'azardous  ?"  suggested  the  Slinker 
timidly,  feeling  somewhat  like  a  small  fly  just  caught 
in  the  web  of  a  huge  spider. 

"  Pshaw !  Lucifer's  a  jolly  devil  in  his  way ;"  said 
the  Professor  laughing,  "  and  passing  a  queer  bill  is 
no  great  matter,  specially  when  you  have  a  good  one 
in  your  pocket  to  fork  out  if  it's  questioned.  And 
now,  good  night ;  I  expect  Sal's  tired  of  waiting  for 
me ;  you  sleep  here,  don't  you  Slinker  ?  What  are 
you  going  to  do.  Bob  ?" 

"  Stroll  up  to  the  Astor,"  said  the  Confidence  man 
easily,  "  and  see  if  I  can't  catch  a  flat  from  the  coun- 
try, at  any  rate,  I'll " 

"  Don't  humbug  we,"  said  the  Professor,  "  I  know 
where  you'll  go,  safe  enough — take  care  of  your 
money,  that's  all ;"  and  so  saying,  the  three  worthies 
separated,  as  we  too,  not  unwillingly,  shall  separate 
from  them  for  the  present. 


AEOYE   GEOUKD.  37 


CHAPTER     III. 

ABOYE   GROTOTD. 

The  house  of  Mr.  Harrison  B.  Tonkers  was  in  tlio 
best  part  of  the  Fifth  Avenue,  that  is,  in  the  very  best 
part  of  New  York. 

Indeed,  the  Fifth  Avenue  has  been  called  by 
strangers,  a  street  of  palaces,  and  is  not  surpassed  by 
even  the  handsomest  lino  of  villa-residences  in  the 
suburbs  of  London.  Continental  towns  have  nothing 
of  the  kind  to  show,  and  assuredly  no  other  dwelling- 
street  in  any  American  city  can  rival  ita  elegance  and 
substantial  mao-nificcnce.  r. .  •-•*•.---•''. 

The  house  of  Mr.  Ilarrison  B. .  Yorfkei^^was  built  in 
the  native  "  know-nothing,"  or  conglomerate,  style  of 
architecture.  It  gloried  in  a  Greek  portico,  Gothic 
windows,  and  Moorish  pinnacled.  It  wa.s  faced  with 
brown-stone — done  brown,  as  the  masons  facetiously 
say — and  had  an  open-work  stone  wall,  like  pie-crust, 
before  it.  Tlie  entrance  was  reached,  through  a  small 
garden,  by  a  broad  flight  of  marble  steps.  On  each 
side  of  these  steps,  tail  in  air,  with  open  mouth,  and 


38  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

lustreless  eyes  stood  sentinel,  a  liuge  bronze  lion.  Own 
brothers  of  these  same  leonine  twins,  mount  guard  at 
the  doors  of  Mrs.  Peterson  Jones  and  Mr.  Lundy 
Smith.  'No  lion  was  ever  more  popular,  not  even 
Eleazar  Williams,  King  of  France,  and  Emperor  of 
"  Putnam's  Monthly."  T^he  man  w^ho  has  the  mould, 
says  it  is  the  most  philoprogenitive  lion  he  ever 
caught,  and  he  would  not  take  five  thousand  dollars 
for  it. 

As  to  the  interior  comforts  of  the  house  of  Mr. 
Harrison  B.  Yonkers  (B.  stands  for  Benjamin,  but  he 
was  always  called  Hanison  B.),  it  had,  in  advertising 
phrase,  all  the  modern  improvements — ^gas,  baths, 
■gutta-percha  telegraphs,  and  so  forth.  Its  fm-niture 
was  in  a  style  of  exaggerated  splendor,  though  far 
from  vulgar  in  taste.  Mr.  Harrison  B.  had  married, 
for  the  second  time,  at  the  age  of  forty-eight,  a  beau- 
tiful young  lady  precisely  half  his  age — decidedly  the 
better  half — that  is,  foui*  and  twenty,  and  she  natu- 
rally expected  a  great  deal. 

In  this  world  life  is  a  trade,  and  most  earthly  tran- 
sactions bargains.  Much  bogus  coin  and  wild-cat- 
cum-red-dog  bills  are  in  circulation ;  but,  as  a  general 
principle,  "  shin  plasters "  are  regarded  caiitiously, 
and  nothing  is  given  for  nothing.  He  who  has  no 
capital' realizes  the  ex  nihilo  nihil  fit  axiom  infallibly. 
But  money  is  not  the  only  capital.    Miss  Amelia 


ABOVTS-GROirND.  39 

Luton  gave  youtli,  beauty,  accomplishmentSj  in 
exchange  for  dulness,  middle  age,  and  wealth.  She 
had  no  idea  of  being  cheated  out  of  her  equivalent 
for  what  she  justly  considered  an  "  awful  sacrifice." 
In  the  South,  pretty  colored  ladies  are  sold  by  the 
slave-dealer;  in  the  ISTorth,  pretty  white  ladies  sell 
themselves  directly.  Perhaps,  so  long  as  poverty 
shall  be  the  greatest  curse  of  life,  unequal  marriages 
and  prostitution  will  continue  to  desolate  society,  and 
change  the  harmony  of  human  nature  into  discord. 

Amelia  Luton,  like  many  others,  imagined  that  of 
two  evils,  she  chose  the  least.  To  live  in  a  palace,  to 
dress  like  a  princess,  to  receive  her  guests  with  suj^erb 
hospitality,  were  now  supposed  necessities  of  her 
existence. 

To  do  her  justice,  she  would  not  have  sold  herself 
for  these  considerations  alone,  had  any  of  the  men 
she  encoimtered  as  a  spinster  succeeded  in  touching 
her  heart.  But  none  succeeded  in  the  task,  for  she 
expected  much.  She  was  a  woman  of  strong  mind 
and  ardent  feelings.  She  had  no  fortune.  Iler 
mother  had  an  income  which,  like  the  L-ishman's 
story,  wanted  nothing  but  a  beginning  and  an  end, 
except  a  middle,  to  make  it  perfect.  Li  a  blank 
state  of  sentiment  she  exercised  her  judgment,  and 
married  a  rich  widower  ;  a  man  of  money  ;  a  A\^all 
street  potentate  ;  a  good-humored  gentleman  ;  with  a 


40  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

• 

red  face,  iron-grey  hair  and  whiskers,  and  a  large, 
portly  figure,  as  became  a  man  nominally  worth  a 
million.     Mr.  Yonkers   was  a   great  man  in  Wall 
street,  but  a  very  small  one  in  Fifth  Avenue ;  his  wife 
was  supposed  to  be  highly  cultivated,  and  knew  a 
hundred  things  of  which  he  had  scarcely  a  dim  con- 
ception.    What  usually  happened  in  such  cases,  hap- 
pened in  this.     Mrs.  Yonkers  having  thrown  herself 
away,  as  she  more  than  once  sarcastically  hinted,  on 
a  heap  of  gold  dust,  was  rendered  suddenly  alive  to 
the  fact,  that  she  had  committed   an  irretrievable 
blunder.     Within  eighteen  months  of  her  marriage, 
she  met,  what  some  ladies  poetical  term,  her  destiny. 
This  destiny  came  in  the  shape  of  a  man  some  twenty 
years  younger  than  her  husband,  and  in  her  eyes  the 
very  paragon  of  earthly  perfection.     This  was  the 
gentleman  who,  on  the  evening  following  that  of  the 
Alterer's  enlistment  of  his  mysterious  recruits,  sat  in 
pleasant   conversation  with   Mrs.  Yonkers,  and  her 
daughter-in-law,  Columbia,  in  the  magnificent  draw- 
ing-room of  her  Fifth  Avenue  mansion. 

He  was  a  man  nearly  thirty  years  of  age,  tall,  pale, 
and  of  an  imposing  mien.  His  face  wore  an  agree- 
able, but  sad  expression,  which  might  have  seemed 
still  sadder,  had  not  a  dark-brown  moustache  and 
beard  almost  concealed  the  line  of  his  mouth,  that 
unfailing  indication  of  the  mind's  interior  condition. 


ABOVE-GKOUKD.  41 

What  was  particiilai-ly  striking  about  tliis  person,  was 
the  steady  gaze  of  his  soft,  inscrutable  grey  eyes. 
When  not  resting  on  the  faces  of  his  companions, 
they  seemed  to  be  looking  forward  into  the  future ; 
or,  possibly,  backwards  into  the  past,  in  search  of 
fantasmal  images,  and  scenery  of  mysterious  interest. 
Ho  was  evidently  full  of  thought,  though  it  might 
have  puzzled  a  phrenologist  to  determine  the  predo- 
minating character  of  his  reflections. 

A  lawyer  might  have  taken  him  for  a  brother  coun- 
sellor, pondering  over  the  intricacies  of  a  cause  about 
to  bo  tried  on  the  following  morning ;  a  merchant 
for  a  speculator  in  stocks,  meditating  a  grand  opera- 
tion in  railway  scrip  ;  an  author  for  a  poet  forming 
the  plot  of  a  tragedy,  or  the  plan  of  an  epic. 

Perhaps  an  acute  man  of  the  world  would  have 
recognized  in  his  countenance,  calm  and  passionless 
as  it  appeared,  the  indications  of  that  painful  per- 
plexity which  a  man  feels  who  has  plunged  himself, 
or  been  plunged  by  circumstances,  or  the  conduct  of 
others,  into  a  position  of  apparently  inextricable 
embarrassment. 

He  was  seated  on  a  sofa  covered  with  blue 
damask,  so  constructed  that  as  he  leaned  back  on  one 
of  its  ends,  he  partially  faced  a  young  lady  of  some 
twenty  to  twenty-three  yeara  of  age,  who  occupied  a 
like  position  at  the  other  end  of  the  sofa. 


43  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

Tliis  young  lady  was  Columbia  Yonikers. 

Precisely  opposite  that  part  of  the  sofa  on  which 
the  gentleman  sat,  and  so  near  that  their  feet  were 
almost  in  contact,  sat  Mrs.  Tonkers.  She  was  dress- 
ed in  white,  for  it  was  summer  weather,  and  white 
well  suited  the  rich  creamy  delicacy  of  her  somewhat 
dark  complexion. 

Her  hair,  almost  black,  was  parted  simply  on  the 
smoothest  of  foreheads;  and  her  large,  dark,  hazel 
eyes  were  fixed  languidly  on  the  object  of  her 
secret  preference,  whilst  her  strong,  rounded,  subtle 
shape  reposed  motionlessly  balanced  in  the  rocking- 
chair — motionlessly,  yet,  if  I  may  venture  on  the 
phrase,  instinct  with  latent  motion.  There  was 
palpably  a  fund  of  life  and  animation  in  that  ti'anquil 
lady,  which  only  awaited  fitting  occasion  to  exhibit 
itself  openly.  Languidly  as  her  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
her  visitor's  features,  there  was  a  strange  intensity  in 
her  look,  which  implied,  perhaps,  doubt,  most 
assuredly,  watchfulness. 

In  truth,  it  was  a  strange  comedy  these  three  people 
were  playing.  To  look  at  the  placid  Columbia,  with 
her  fine  fair  complexion,  her  slender,  graceful,  exqui- 
sitely developed  figure,  and  little  white  tapering  hands 
so  innocently  folded,  as  if  in  unconscious  prayer ;  to 
observe  the  calm  gentleness  of  her  large,  long-lashed 
blue  eyes,  half  covered  by  their  drooping  delicate  lids, 


ABOVE-GEOUND.  43 

as  they  rested  vaguely  ou  her  step-mother's  counte- 
nance, would  have  caused  a  stranger  to  see  in  her  the 
very  type  of  happy  girlish  ignorance,  and  unimpas- 
sioned  womanhood.  Yet  were  those  soft  blue  eyes  no 
less  vigilant  than  the  bright  dark  orbs  of  the  dark 
beauty  on  whom  they  rested.  JS'or,  impassible  as  he 
appeared,  was  the  companion  of  these  two  charming 
women  less  closely  observant  of  the  shghtest  change 
in  the  conventionally-governed  features  of  either. 

The  conversation,  as  is  common  when  thoughts  that 
cannot  be  uttered  are  within  the  hearts  of  the  speak- 
ei-s,  turned  upon  the  most  trivial  topics. 

"The  weather  is  imusually  line,"  said  Columbia, 
with  an  air  of  preoccupation  and  assumed  nonchalance. 

"A  little  cloudy,"  said  the  pale  visitor,  as  if  di-eam- 
ing  of  something  or  somebody  in  another  world,  or 
another  sphere,  as  the  professional  "  spiritualists " 
would  phrase  it. 

"There  will  be  a  storm  unless  the  clouds  pass  over," 
said  Mrs.  Yonkers,  with  a  lazy  sweetness,  fixing  her 
eyes  upon  her  vis-a-vis,  to  exftress  the  emphasis  which 
her  tones  avoided. 

"A  storm  ?"  said  the  gentleman,  "  there  is  no  dan- 
ger of  that ;  see  how  bright  the  sun  is  shining  1"  and  ho 
sent  a  smiling  look  towards  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Yonkers. 

Iler  features  brightened  at  the  delicately-implied 
compliment. 


44  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP, 

"  I  cannot  help  tliinking,"  she  said  playfully,  yet 
with  an  almost  imperceptible  trtjinor  in  her  voice, 
"that  the  sun  would  sliine  brighter,  but  for  the  fear  of 
the  coming  eclipse." 

"What  is  an  eclipse  but  a  shadow  that  passes 
away  ?"  said  the  visitor,  with  a  second  smile  so  admir- 
ably forced  that  it  dissipated,  for  the  moment^  the 
vague  suspicions  that  were  flickering  within  the  heart 
of  the  young  married  woman. 

But  Dudley  Mondel,  for  we  may  as  well  give  the 
gentleman  a  name,  having  made  the  effort  which  feel- 
ing and  policy  dictated,  immediately  allowed  his 
countenance  to  relax  into  its  old  expression  of  serious 
and  sad  meditativeness,  whilst  Columbia,  w^ho  had 
watched  the  exchange  of  looks,  and  listened  to  the 
brief  colloquy  with  acute  attention,  said  in  a  tone  of 
sprightliness,  "  One  would  almost  fancy  that  you  were 
talking  parables,  propounding  enigmas,  or  trying  to 
be  poetically  sentimental.  My  dear  mamma,  I  never 
thought  the  weather  so  interesting  a  topic  before." 

""Who  started  it?"  said  Mrs.  Tonkers,  meeting  Co- 
lumbia's sprightly  manner  with  an  equally  excellent 
assumption. 

Mondel  here  made  a  desperate  effort  to  start  a  new 
subject  of  conversation,  by  alluding  to  a  recently  pub- 
lished autobiography  of  an  actress. 

"  It  sti-ikes  me  as  the  play  of  Hamlet,  with  the  part 


-       ABOVE-GEOUND,  45 

of  Hamlet  omitted,"  said  Mrs.  Yonkcrs,  "  it  lacks 
reality ;  it  is  wanting  in  material  facts." 

"  Are  material  facts  the  most  real  things  in  life  ?" 
said  Columbia,  timidly. 

"Kot  to  those  who  live  in  dreams,  my  fairy -like 
darling,"  replied  Mrs.  Yonkers,  smiling,  with  a  pat- 
ronizing air  of  superior  experience;  and  then  she 
added,  as  if  involuntarily,  "but  we  soon  discover  how 
little  the  most  beautiful  dreams  can  satisfy  the  heart, 
how  feeble  are  mere  visions  as  food  for  the  cravings 
of  the  soul." 

"I  imderstand,"  said  Columbia,  shaking  off  her 
timidity,  and  excited  by  the  brilliancy  of  her  own 
fancy,  "  I  understand  that  clear,  distinct  perceptions 
are  absolutely  essential  to  the  enjoyment  of  existence; 
but  it  seems  to  me,  that  my  delight  in  the  perfume  of 
a  flower  is  fully  as  interesting  to  record,  as  a  natural- 
ist's description  of  its  petals  and  outward  characteris- 
tics." 

"  Always  the  same  battle — the  subjective  versus  the 
objective — ^genius  puzzing  common-place,"  murmured 
Mondel,  inaudibly,  as  he  stole  a  rapid  glance  at  Co- 
lumbia's exquisite  profile,  pure  and  noble,  as  if  cut  by 
the  chisel  of  a  god. 

Dudley  Mondel — we  will  leave  the  ladies  to  their 
transcendental  discussion,  and  devote  ourselves  to  the 
part  of  LLamlct  for  a  few  minutes — ^Dudley  Mondel 


4:6  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

found  himself  in  a  most  peculiar  position.  A  few 
days  before,  lie  had  been  attracted  to  the  house  in 
Fifth  Avenue,  by  the  beauty  and  accomplishments 
of  the  fascinating  Mrs.  Yonkers.  Pleased  and  flat- 
tered by  the  lady's  evident  prepossession  in  his  favor, 
he  had  formed  no  plan,  conceived  no  ulterior  design. 
All  men,  however  philosophical  they  may  be,  are 
pleased  to  become  an  object  of  interest  to  a  lovely 
woman.  Nor  could  Mondel  fail  to  admire  the  grace 
and  beauty  of  Mrs.  Yonkers. 

It  was,  however,  with  feelings  of  dismay  and  an 
noyance,  that  he  perceived,  after  a  few  interviews, 
the  extent  of  the  feelings  he  had  awakened.  Pro- 
foundly versed  in  all  the  mysteries  of  feminine  nature, 
he  saw  himself  the  object  of  a  first  deep,  all-absorb- 
ing, all-destroying  passion,  which  he  could  not  reci- 
procate, and  dared  not  slight ;  which  he  at  the  same 
time  feared  and  pitied,  and  which  was  suddenly 
thrown  as  a  bar  athwart  the  path  of  a  new  vista  of 
happiness,  unexpectedly  opened  before  him. 

In  the  centre  of  this  vista  stood  Columbia. 

On  his  first  visit  to  Mrs.  Yonkers,  he  recognized  in 
her  step-daughter  the  very  earth-bom  goddess  which 
his  whole  life  had  been  spent  in  seeking.  In  the 
very  first  flash  of  her  eyes,  he  felt  the  soul  of  beauty 
that  sprung  to  meet  his  own,  and  already  he  was  in- 
volved in  a  sort  of  intrigue,  from  which  it  was  impos- 


ABOVE-GROITND.  47 

eible  to  recede,  without  mortally  wotmding  and 
offending  her,  to  whom  he  owed  the  introduction 
to  the  suddenly  discovered  idol. 

Love  is  a  matter  of  organization.  It  is  a  simple 
question  of  harmony  between  two  instruments. 
Hence,  almost  all  real  love  is  instantaneous  as  the  ex- 
jjlosion  which  follows  the  application  of  a  match  to 
gunpowder.  We  love  a  type  which  is,  in  reality,  an 
ideal  reflex  of  our  own  souls.  Every  approximation 
to  that  type  affects  us,  as  one  harp  is  affected  by  the 
vibrations  of  another.  The  more  perfect  the  accord, 
the  louder  and  stronger  the  sympathetic  vibration  of 
our  nerves.  Hence  a  more  perfect  image  of  the 
ideal  type  will  always  destroy  all  feebler  images; 
hence  inconstancy  and  all  the  sorrows  of  abandoned 
love ;  hence  the  agonies  of  genius,  in  its  deep  long- 
ing for  sympathy,  which  it  can  only  truly  meet  with 
in  genius  itself;  hence  incomplete,  shadowy,  disap- 
pointed loves — deep,  dark,  overwhelming  sorrows  ; 
hence  the  wild  dreams  of  poetry,  the  wild  adventures 
of  poets,  and  their  misapprehension  by  the  ignorant 
and  the  unscientific  world  I 

Dudley  Mondel  was  not  what  severe  religionists 
and  vulgar  disciplinarians  would  call  a  good  man. 
He  was  generous  and  brave,  gentle  and  benevolent ; 
but  his  life  had  been  passed  in  wild  roving  from  land 
to  land  on  the  ono  hand,  fi-om  science  to  science,  and 


4:8  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE  LAMP. 

literature  to  literature  on  the  other.  He  had  criticised 
all  systems  of  morality  to  death.  All  religions  and 
systems  had,  in  the  crucible  of  his  pitiless  analysis, 
melted  away  into  forms  of  thought, — ways  of  looking 
at  an  idea.  So  that  at  last  his  own  will  had  become  his 
sole  law,  and  vice  and  virtue  were  nominal  distinc- 
tions. He  was  a  popular  writer,  a  poet,  and  a  philo- 
sopher. He  had  many  admirers  and  some  disciples. 
He  was  a  man  famous  in  his  way ;  and  his  vast  read- 
ing and  varied  knowledge  filled  his  oponents,  as  well 
as  his  friends,  with  amazement.  But  he  was  a  man 
as  well  as  a  student.  He  had  seen  and  experienced 
much. 

He  had  known  rapid  reverses  of  fortune.  He  had 
been  a  worker  as  well  as  an  employer.  If  he  had  had 
his  follies  and  his  mistresses,  he  had  also  written 
books  and  engaged  in  many  enterprises.  Wherever 
he  was,  he  became  more  or  less  the  centre  point  of 
action — the  motive  and  directing  power.  Men  fan- 
cied they  drove  him  harnessed  to  the  chariot  of  their 
fortunes,  whilst  Mondel  led  them  by  the  golden  thread 
of  genius.  IsTo  matter  what  he  turned  his  attention  to, 
his  severely  logical  mind  at  once  grasped  the  funda- 
mental facts  of  the  position. 

Above  all,  he  was  ever  ti'ue  to  himself.  His  soul 
was  ever  kingly.  His  soul  was  his  own,  and  his 
body  also.    He  was  a  free  doer  and  thinker.     Lilve 


ABOVE-GKOUND.  49 

Talleyrand,  lie  had  no  prejudices.  Like  iN'elson,  he 
had  no  knowledge  of  fear.  Like  every  true  philoso- 
pher, he  had  no  master.  He  bent  neither  to  men  nor 
to  the  opinions  of  men. 

He  could  neither  be  bribed,  intimidated  nor  hum- 
bugged. His  great  vice,  if  vice  it  were,  was  pride. 
But  pride  in  the  successful  man  is  greatness ;  pride 
is  only  condemned  in  those  who  fail.  Tarquin 
Superbus,  would  have  been  Tarcpin  the  Superb,  not 
Tarquin  the  Proud,  had  he  not  been  dethroned  and 
driven  into  exile. 

Such  wTis  Mondel  the  man.  We  have  yet  to  give 
some  idea  of  Mondel  as  a  member  of  society. 

In  this  respect,  he  was  a  struggling  adventurer. 
He  had  consumed  his  fortimo  and  all  he  had  since 
acquired.  In  the  golden  phraseology  of  Wall  street, 
he  was  not  worth  a  cent, 

"  There  is  plenty  of  gold  scattered  about,"  he 
would  say  in  sportive  mood;  "  when  I  want  it,  I  will 
lake  it.  The  world  is  my  debtor  and  my  banker. 
One  of  these  days,  I  will  have  a  settlement,  and,  take 
my  funds  into  my  own  hands,  for  more  profitable 
investment." 

If  Mondel  had  any  religion,  it  was  the  worship  of 
beauty.  If  he  ever  prayed,  his  prayers  were  the 
words  of  love,  entreating  love.  Beauty  was,  to  his 
intelligence,  like  music.     Every  face  and  form  was  a 

3 


50  THE   feLAVE   OF  THE  LAMP. 

new  combination  of  harmony.  Monclel  had  no  con- 
ception of  life  without  woman's  sympathy.  But  he 
Bonght  restlessly  for  the  highest  female  perfection ;  in 
his  search,  he  had  many  adventures,  and  tried  many 
experiments.  He  had  left  more  than  one  Ariadne 
behind  him  to  be  consoled,  let  us  hope,  by  some 
nobler  and  more  respectable  god  than  Bacchus. 

Finally,  the  mother  of  Mondel  was  an  American 
senator's  daughter,  and  his  father  an  English  gentle- 
man, whilst  his  birth  took  place  by  a  singular  caprice 
of  destiny,  in  a  packet-ship  in  the  very  centre  of  the 
Atlantic  ocean.  The  ship,  moreover,  was  a  French 
ship,  owned  by  a  Dutchman,  Tims,  Mondel  first 
landed  upon  the  soil  of  la  belle  France.  He  was 
born  a  cosmopolite,  without  a  country  and  without  a 
govermnent,  which  latter  fact  accounts  for  his  subse- 
quent contempt  of  all  established  political  authori- 
ties, great  and  small. 

Having  thus  given  the  reader  some  vague  idea  of 
the  central  character  in  the  scene  I  am  describing,  I 
shall  resume  the  thread  of  active  narrative  without 
further  digression. 

The  desultory  conversation,  sustained  for  some  time 
with  little  interest  to  any  of  the  three  personages  en- 
gaged in  it,  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  a  ser- 
vant, who  wished  to  speak  with  Mrs.  Yonkers  on  some 
household  matter. 


ABOVE-GEOHND.  51 

Mrs.  Tonkers  rose  to  leave  tlie  room,  but  liavius 
already  rcaclied  the  door,  opened  it,  and  taken  one 
step  into  the  hall,  she  was  impelled  by  that  demon  of 
divination  which  jealonsy  lends  to  a  woman  who  loves, 
to  tm-n  suddenly  back  and  unexpectedly  re-enter  the 
ai3artment  she  was  leaving.  Her  presentiment  was 
not  without  justification.  The  moment  the  door  be- 
gan to  close  upon  her  form,  a  sudden  change  took 
place  in  the  expression  of  the  faces  of  both  Mondel 
and  Colimibia.  As  if  by  an  invincible  attraction, 
their  heads  turned  upon  their  shoulders  with  the  sim- 
ultaneous motion  of  two  flowers  affected  by  the  same 
gust  of  wind,  or  two  wheels  of  a  steam  engine  imited 
by  the  same  band  of  gutta  percha.  Tluis  their  eyes 
were  brought  opposite  to  one  another's,  and  each 
drank  in  eagerly  the  longed-for  rays,  streaming  as  it 
were  from  the  very  fountain-head  of  life,  the  man 
absorbing  deliciously  the  exhalation  of  innocent  beau- 
ty, spiritual  purity  and  sweet  intelligence  of  his  lovely 
companion,  the  girl  drinking  in  with  avidity  the  tor- 
rent of  thought,  of  intellect  and  noble  manliood  which 
the  gaze  of  Mondel  j)oured  in  a  flood  of  light  upon 
her  now  awakened  being. 

It  was  this  meeting,  or  rather,  if  I  may  offend  my 
critics  still  further  by  my  temerity,  and  say  this  rush- 
ing together  of  the  eyes  of  Mondel  and  Columbia, 
which  the  sudden  return  of  Mi*s.  Youkers  surprised, 


62  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

witliout  immediately  disconcerting.  ISTeitlier  of  the 
eager  gazers  perceived  it.  They  were  both,  for  the 
instant,  carried  away  from  all  outward  sensations  by 
the  thrilling  contemplation  of  that  loveliness  which 
they  foimd  so  marvellonsly  realized  in  one  another. 
Mrs.  Tonkers  gazed,  pale  with  anger. 

Anger  was  her  first  sensation  ;  the  anguish  was  to 
come  afterwards. 

"  Mr.  Mondel,"  said  Columbia,  and  at  the  sound 
of  her  own  voice  she  blushed,  and  not  till  then ;  "  Mr. 
Mondel,  have  you  ever  seen  a  more  charming  woman 
than  my  step-mother  ?" 

"JS'o,"  said  Mondel,  "never  till  I" At  this 

crisis,  he  suddenly  became  aware  of  the  presence  of 
Mrs.  Yonkers. 

There  she  stood,  pale  and  trembling,  with  a  ghastly 
invention  of  a  smile  flickering  like  a  dead  light  upon 
her  lips. 

But  Mondel  was  a  man  who  had  seen  too  much  of 
life,  to  be  taken  unprepared  whilst  possibility  of 
escape  yet  remained  to  him. 

"  ISTever,"  he  continued,  without  changing  his 
tone,  "  till  I  saw  that  lady  who  has  just  entered,  and 
who  appears  to  me  to  surpass  Mrs.  Yonkers  immea- 
surably in  every  respect.    Do  you  not  think  so  ?" 

And  both  Mondel  and  Columbia  laughed,  and 
their  laugh  soimded  natural,  for  they  were  happy,  and 


ABOVE-GEOITND.  53 

could  accomplish  that,  wliicli  to  Mrs.  Yonkers  Tvas 
impossible.  Hollow,  indeed,  was  the  laugh  with 
which  she  responded  to  the  pleasantry,  as  she  aficct- 
ed  to  look  for  her  handkerchief  by  the  chair  she  had 
occnpied.  She  had  only  returned  to  pick  up  a  piece 
of  laced  French  cambric,  that  was  all ! 

But  Mondel  was  not  deceived  by  this  shallow  t'use  ; 
and  when  he  rose  to  take  his  leave,  the  look  he 
exchanged  with  Columbia  was  a  revelation.  Hence- 
forward, he  made  up  his  mind  that  disguise  was 
useless. 

Oh,  that  look !  that  look !  it  burned  into  the  very 
heart  of  hearts  of  the  young  wife  ! 

But  she  did  not  yet  despair  of  victory  over  hei 
rival. 


TIIE   SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 


CHAPTEE  lY. 

PEEEGKINE      COPE. 

MoKDEL  liad  left  the  liouse  of  Mrs.  Yonkers.  It 
was  already  dusk.  He  soon  found  liimself  in  Broad- 
way. There  is  an  invincible  attraction  about  that 
crowded  thoroughfare.  All  the  life  of  ITew  York 
seems  to  be  concentrated  in  the  perpetual  flood  of 
humanity  which,  from  early  dawn  till  after  midnight, 
pours  wave  on  wave  along  its  rocky  pavement. 

Mondel  was  a  man  of  the  world  in  the  true  sense. 
He  shunned  society,  it  is  true,  and  yet  he  hated  soli- 
tude. It  is  a  strange  relief  to  a  mind  troubled  by 
gloomy  reflections  to  be  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd  of 
animated  figures.  They  distract  without  disturbing 
the  current  of  meditation.  Mondel  was  an  intense 
observer  of  character.  He  was  a  skilful  artist,  and 
an  incomparable  physiognomist.  He  read  faces  like 
books.  Every  man  he  saw  was  to  him  more  or  less  a 
study,  a  problem,  a  subject  of  speculation.  We  have 
already  alluded  to  his  j)assion  for  the  criticism  of 
female  beauty  and  expression. 


PEREGKrNT3   COPE.  55 

This  habit  of  observation  wrr  with  him  instinctive. 
"No  matter  how  absorbed  he  might  be  in  other 
thoughts,  it  still  went  on  in  a  parallel  line  of  alter- 
nating mental  action. 

However,  he  had  progressed  considerably  down 
Broadway,  before  any  of  the  passing  promenaders 
had  sufficiently  arrested  his  attention  to  cause  him  to 
give  them  anything  more  than  a  passing  notice, 
when  suddenly  three  men  of  the  most  singular- 
aspect,  and  walking  arm  in  arm,  came  suddenly 
before  him. 

Other  pedestrians  on  either  side  prevented  him 
from  immediately  passing  the  three  strangei-s. 

The  most  distinguished  in  appearance  of  the 
three  had  the  air  of  a  sporting  man,  or  a  garmbler 
disguised  as  a  clergyman,  while  his  tall  friend  looked, 
or  tried  to  look,  the  extreme  dandy  and  hotel-step 
lounger.  The  third  resembled  a  very  sharp  lawyer, 
and  wore  a  massive  gold  chain,  which  ho  played  with 
nervously,  as  if  to  assure  himself  that  it  still  secm-ed 
the  invisible  measm-er  of  time,  which  probably  had 
its  abode  in  the  breast-pocket  of  his  waistcoat. 

These  well-dressed  promenaders,  whose  hats  all 
three  shone  with  an  miearthly  gloss,  and  whose  clothes 
fitted  them,  according  as  their  figures  were  adaptable 
to  the  inflexible  mathematics  of  the  ready-made  sys- 
tem, were,  it  must  be  admitted,  no  new  characters  to 


56  THE    SLAVE    OF   THE   LAMP. 

the  reader,  but  simply  our  worthy  friends,  the  Pro- 
fessor, Confidence  Bob,  and  their  acolyte,  the  Slinker, 
of  oyster-consnming  memory. 

The  Professor  alone  might  have  passed  for  an 
eccentric  Southerner,  a  Tammany  Hall  politician,  or  a 
foreign  merchant.  The  Slinker  might,  unaccom- 
panied, have  been  mistaken  for  one  of  those  con- 
temptible respectabilities  so  abundant  in  civilized 
society.  But  Confidence  Bob,  with  his  air  of  reckless 
impudence  and  outrageous  assumption,  at  once  threw 
an  air  of  burlesque  extravagance  over  the  "  solemnly 
constituted  imposture  "  of  the  whole  party. 

"If  those  fellows,"  thought  Mondel,  as  he  quietly 
moved  out  of  the  way,  "  are  not  three  disreputable 
rascals,  may  I  never  kiss  a  pretty  woman  again !" 

"  Ho  !"  cried  a  voice  behind  him.  "  Mondel,  my 
dear  fellow,  I  am  delighted  to  meet  you.  I  am 
as  dull  as  the  window  of  a  newspaper  office,  or  the 
speech  of  one  of  Louis  ISTapoleon's  senators !  I  am 
delighted  to  meet  with  a  reasonable  and  talkable 
beiuff !" 

"  "What,  Cope  ?  Peregrine  Cope !  Where  do  you 
come  from  ?" 

"  In  a  beehive,  from  Paris." 

The  speaker  was  a  man  of  medium  height,  slender, 
graceful  figure,  large  bright  eyes,  careless,  yet  elegant 
dress,  and  some  seven  and  thirty  years  of  age.     In 


rEEEGRBSrE   COPE.  57 

turniDg  to  regard  this  new-comer,  Mondel  lost  siglit 
of  the  three  vagabonds,  who,  with  a  natural  subter- 
ranean instinct,  descended  ostentatiously  into  the 
nearest  drinking  saloon. 

"My  dear  Cope,"  said  Mondel,  taking  his  old 
friend,  for  such  he  palpably  was,  by  both  hands,  and 
regarding  him  affectionately,  "your  arrival  is  most 
apropos.  I  want  some  one  to  confide  in,  and,  by  a 
curious  chance,  all  my  intimates  are  scattered  abroad 
over  the  earth.  Bivar  is  gone  to  San  Francisco, 
Pmkney  is  editing  a  paper  in  Ai'kansaw,  Eashmere 
has  eloped  with  Judge  Spoker's  wife.  Madder  is  gone 
to  practice  law  in  Oregon,  and  Pearlin  is  gone  to  the 
devil — at  any  rate,  nobody  knows  what  has  become 
of  him — so  that  some  think  he  has  retired  to  a  remote 
part  of  Long  Island,  to  take  lessons  in  singing  from 
a  young  lady,  who  is  missing  from  Flicflac's  theatre. 
For  my  part,  I  suspect  he  has  committed  suicide,  out 
of  disgust  for  his  own  mediocrity." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Peregrine  Cope.  "If  he  has, 
the  trait  is  a  creditable  one  in  his  character ;  but 
where  can  we  sit  down  quietly,  and  talk  at  our  case  ? 
That  last  rowdy,  who  ran  against  me,  nearly  dislo- 
cated my  shoulder.  Broadway  is  not  broad  enough 
for  dialogue.     AVhere  can  we  rest  ourselves  ?" 

"Let  us  go  down  into  the  Waverly  saloon,  and 
take  some  supper.    It  is  as  quiet  and  well-conducted 

3* 


58  THE   ELAYE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

a  place  as  any  in  the  city.     Besides,  tlie  landlord  im- 
ports Ms  own  cigars  direct  from  Havana." 

"  The  "Waverlj^ !"  said  Cope — "  with  all  my  heart. 
The  name  has  a  romantic  sound,  which  I  like.     By 
the  way,  w^hy  do  not  you  turn  great  unknown,  and 
astonish  the  world  by  a  new  and  successfal  mystifica 
tion  ?" 

"  Because,  in  the  first  place,  the  world  would  not 
be  mystified,  and  we  live  in  an  age  of  newspapers. 
Secondly,  because  the  anonymous  system  is  a  damna 
ble  swindle,  ex]3ressly  invented  to  cheat  authors  out 
of  their  reputations.  Why,  my  dear  Cope,  /published 
more  than  a  dozen  anonymous  volumes  before  L  was 
five  and  twenty  years  of  age,  and  before  anybody 
ever  heard  of  me." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?" 

"  Yes !  not  only  possible,  but  true.  But  to  revert 
to  your  proposition  as  to  writing  novels,  I  do  not 
believe  in  novel-writing  any  more." 

"  Not  believe  in  novel- writing  ?" 

"  l!^o,  I  think  the  form  is  exhausted.  I  think  that 
Scott,  Bulwer,  Dickens,  Thackeray,  &  Co.,  have  used 
it  up.  Novels  are  no  longer  novel.  The  same  scenes 
and  situations,  as  dramatists  say,  reappear  over  and 
over  again,  till  one  is  sick  of  them.  "What  Bulwer 
gave  us  hot  with  sauce,  Tliackeray  gives  us  cold  with 
pickles,  and  both  are  behind  the  age,  old  fogies  with 


PEREGRINE   COPE.  69 

no  spirit  of  prophecy  in  them.  I  sliould  like  to  do 
somethino-  bettev  :for  English  literature  than  tread  in 
the  footsteps  of  sucJi  masters." 

"  But  if  you  abolish  the  novel,  what  sort  of  light 
reading  can  you  invent  to  replace  it  ?  Essays  soon 
grow  tiresome.  Dramas  are  imperfect  without  the 
accessories  of  the  stage ;  and  what  decent  author  can 
endure  the  vulgarity  and  impertinence  of  managers? 
Poetry  is  a  bore  to  nine  readers  out  often." 

"  Ninety-nine  out  of  a  hundred,"  said  Mondel 
laughing,  "  do  not  spare  my  feelings.  It  is  not  my 
fault,  but  my  misfortune,  that  I  am  a  bit  of  a  poet." 

"  But  what  do  you  propose  as  a  substitute  for  the 
worn-out  novel  ?" 

'■''  Memoirs — not  merely  of  celebrities,  but  of  Jack, 
Tom  and  Harry.  Tales,  compact  and  artistic,  carry- 
ing out  an  idea  like  a  poem,  short  and  good,  not 
lengthy  and  windy  like  six  romances  out  of  seven, 
even  of  the  better  class.  Historical  studies,  Philoso- 
phical treatises,  made  amusing,  witty  and  intelligible, 
iustead  of  dull,  ponderous  and  obscure.  Travels  full 
of  accurate  observation,  not  of  stupid  national  preju- 
dice. In  a  word,  ideas  and  facts,  instead  of  stereo- 
tyiDcd  scenes  and  phrases  everlastingly  repeated. 
For  the  rest,  there  is  a  new  school  of  poetry  to  be 
established.  We  want  poets  who  will  take  the  trou- 
ble, like  musicians  or  artists,  to  learn  the  rudiments 


60  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

of  their  art,  before  astonisliing  tlie  world  with  such 
crude  monstrosities,  as  "Life-dramas,"  and  all  that 
sort  of  feeble  trash,  the  varied  flummery  of  egotism, 
inexperience  and  afi'ectation.  In  a  word,  w&  want 
artists,  not  dilettanti!''^ 

"Ha,  ha!"  said  Cope,  "you  are  severe  on  the 
Smiths  and  the  Joneses,  Mondel,  and  I  am  with  you. 
K  the  authors  of  that  line  of  book,  Festus,  Balder,  &c. 
had  the  real  poetical  stuff  in  them,  they  would  go  out 
into  the  world  and  do  something  more  than  merely 
howl  lamentations  and  egotism  in  blank  verse.  But 
why  does  not  a  great  poet  arise  here  in  America?" 

"  Because,  if  he  were  to  ai)pear,  he  would  starve  ;" 
said  Mondel  drily.  "  The  hour  for  American  genius 
to  raise  the  standard  of  a  national  literature  is  at  hand, 
but  not  yet  arrived.  We  are  still  inundated  with 
trashy  reprints  and  trashier  imitations.  We  are  still 
plagued  with  that  ridiculous  invention  of  the  old 
world,  magazines — the  curse  of  talent,  and  the  hot- 
bed of  amature  scribblomania,  which  it  so  absurdly 
encourages." 

"  Bravo,"  said  Cope,  "  I  always  despised  a  maga- 
zine !  How  absurd  to  collect  a  bundle  of  trash,  with 
one  good  article,  perhaps,  to  flavor  it,  to  palm  off 
quantity  for  quality,  and,  as  in  certain  infamous 
cases,  to  conceal  the  names  of  the  authors  in  order  to 
prevent  them  from  deriving  independent  reputation 


PEREGRINE   COPE.  $1 

from  their  contributions.  But  do  not  let  us  discuss 
sucli  meanness,  or  the  rascals  who  live  by  it.  I  have 
other  matters  to  talk  to  you  about." 

By  this  time,  the  two  friends  were  snugly  ensconced 
in  a  box ;  supper  ordered,  and  the  blind  drawn  down. 
As  the  gas  blazed  up  into  full  flame,  Peregrine  Cope 
observed  the  face  of  Mondel  was  pale  and  weary,  as 
with  many  days  of  care  and  sadness. 


62  THE  SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMT. 


CHAPTER  V. 


FITZGAMMON  o'eOUNCEE. 


"  I  DO  not  wisli  to  sentimentalize,"  said  Mondel, 
thoughtfully,  to  his  friend,  as  soon  as  they  had  dis- 
cussed the — in  New  York — 'inevitable  oysters,  and 
opened  a  second  bottle  of  champagne.  "I  do  not 
wish  to  sentimentalize,  but  it  seems  to  me,  judging 
from  all  I  hear  and  read,  that  a  deep-seated  and 
gloomy  discontent  pervades  the  minds  of  most  per- 
sons of  culture  in  the  present  age.  In  America  this 
feeling  is  as  rife  as  in  Europe.  There  is  no  affecta- 
tion about  it.  Every  day  I  hear  men — aye,  and 
women — even  fair  and  lovely  girls,  express  an  indif- 
ference to  life,  a  disgust  for  the  world,  a  vague,  object- 
less dissatisfaction  that  is  utterly  depressing  and 
discouraging." 

"  You  associate,  probably,"  said  Coj^e,  "  with  the 
literary  class  more  than  any  other,  and  since  the 
calamities  of  authors  are  proverbial  and  universal,  as 
we  ourselves  know  from  dire  experience  in  many 
cities,  it  is  no  wonder  that  they  utter  cries  of  pain, 


FITZGAMMON   o'bOUNCEE.  63 

and  even  groans  of  despair  in  their  sufferings.  Au- 
thors love  pleasure, — thej  are  poor.  Superior  in 
education  and  refinement  to  all  other  classes,  they 
are  proud  and  in  debt.  Tlie  popular  taste  is  in  its 
infancy,  and  naturally  is  captivated  by  books  written 
most  down  to  the  level  of  the  vidgar  apprehension. 
Hence  the  success  of  female  writere,  and  common- 
place trivialities.  Tlie  poet  and  the  student  is  per- 
haps out  of  his  element  amongst  us." 

"  Not  so  !"  said  Mondel,  brightening  up  and  speak- 
ing with  decided  animation.  "  You,  Cope,  are  a  JSTew 
England  Yankee,  and,  with  all  your  travelled  lore,  can 
scarcely  see  things  here  with  the  clearness  of  view 
given  to  me,  a  cosmopolite  and  a  stranger.  I  have 
neither  patriotism  nor  prejudices.  I  see  that  in  Eng- 
land literature  has  exhausted  itself.  It  is  only  here 
in  America  that  new  circumstances  and  a  new  life 
can  bring  forth  a  new  poet.  For  my  part  I  have 
long  abandoned  the  idea  of  playing  the  part  of  a 
mere  literary  man.  If  I  can  originate  a  thought,  I 
care  little  for  tlic  mode  of  its  realization.  At  this 
moment  I  am  ruined — as  usual — to  all  appearances." 

"  You  are  not  prospering  then  in  a  pecuniary  line  ?" 
said  Cope. 

"ITot  in  the  slightest  degree,"  replied  Mondel, 
coolly. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?" 


64:  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 

"  I^Tothmg." 

"  What  do  you  live  on  ?" 

"  Credit." 

"What -are  your  prospects?" 

"I  do  not  know." 

"l!»rot  know !"  said  Cope,  astounded  at  the  unpar- 
alleled recklessness  of  this  accomplished  desperado. 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Mondel;  "how  should  I? 
There  is  no  sail  in  sight;  but  I  have  not  cruised 
for  ten  long  years  on  the  ocean  of  adventure  without 
learning  that  prizes  turn  up  when  we  least  expect 
them." 

"  Ah,  Mondel !  how  are  you  ?"  said  a  sonorous 
voice.  "  I  have  some  good  news  for  you.  I  saw 
riicflac  to-day.  He  is  delighted  with  your  comedy. 
It  is  to  be  put  in  rehearsal  at  once." 

"  Thank  you  for  your  good  news !  Pray,  sit  down 
— Mr.  Peregrine  Cope — Mr.  Fitzgammon  O'Bouncer. 
You,  hear,"  said  Mondal  to  Coj)e.  "  God  takes  care 
of  the  sparrows.  The  man  who  sows  rarely  fails  to 
reap,  at  some  period  or  other.  It  is  two  months 
since  I  sent  in  tliat  comedy — I  had  almost  forgotten  it. 
How  have  you  been  getting  on  lately,  O'Bouncer  ?" 

"  Splendidly !"  said  O'Bouncer,  who  had  not  paid 
his  board  for  three  months,  and  had  borrowed  of 
every  one  he  knew,  till  the  list  was  utterly  exhausted, 
"  Splendidly  !  the the and  the (men- 


FITZGAilMON   O  BOTJNCEE.  65 

tioning  the  three    principal   daily  papers)  are  con- 
stantly  dunning    me    to    write    leaders    for    them. 

H r,  P' m,   and   G m's  Magazines    have 

offered  to  accept  and  pay  in  advance  for  anything  I 
write,  Flicflac  has  taken  my  farce  and  the  melo 
drama;   and   I   am  now   on   a  tragedy,   for  which 

For st  is  to  give  a  thousand  dollars  cash,  as  soon 

as  it  is  finished." 

"  Is  any  of  it  written  yet  ?"  said  CopCj  who,  from 
a  long  experience  of  Mondel,  detected  in  his  immov- 
able gravity  the  spirit  of  irony,  which  in  this  strange 
man  took  so  many  varied  forms  of  expression. 

"  Not  exactly — written,'^  said  O'Bouncer,  slightly 
disconcerted — even  brazen  statues  are  occasionally 
shaken  on  their  pedestals — "but  I  have  the  plot 
drawn  up.     It  is  first  rate." 

"  Pray,  let  us  hear  it,"  said  Mondel,  with  an 
imperceptible  side  glance  at  Cope. 

"  Nothing  could  delight  me  more,"  said  Peregrine, 
with  polite  interest. 

"  Of  course  it  must  be  in  profound  confidence," 
said  O'Bouncer. 

"  Of  coui"se,"  assured  his  companions. 

"  I  wonder  who  is  in  the  next  box  but  me  ?"  said 
the  author  of  the  unwi-ittcn  tragedy,  suspiciously; 
and,  hearing  some  noise,  which  struck  him  as  pecu- 
liar, Mr.   Fitzgammon   O'Boimccr,  who  was  of  an 


66  THE   6LAVE   OP  THE  LAMP. 

active  muscularity,  suddenly  sprang  upon  the  seat, 
and  looked  over  tlie  partition.  Strange  to  say,  he 
found  himself  face  to  face  with  another  gentleman, 
•who  also  was  looking  over  the  partition  on  the  other 
side  of  the  empty  box ! 

With  my  usual  abhorrence  of  mystery,  I  beg  at 
once  to  admit  that  this  curious  personage  was  no 
other  than  our  already  familiar  acquaintance,  Confi- 
dence Bob,  who  had  taken  up  that  position,  in  order 
to  overhear  more  conveniently  the  conversation  of 
the  literary  party.  Whatever  might  have  been 
Bob's  motive  for  this  espionage,  he  was  not  disposed 
to  allow  himself  to  be  detected.  Therefore,  in  his 
coolest  and  blandest  manner  he  said,  before  O'Boun- 
cer,  whose  eyes  flashed  fire,  could  utter  a  word  : 

"  Excuse  me,  sir.  Did  you  hear  a  hat  drop  ?  Mine 
has  just  fallen  into  this  box." 

"  No,  sir,"  said  O'Bouncer,  sharply,  redescending 
to  his  seat.  "  Some  snob  who  has  dropped  his  hat," 
he  explained  to  Mondel  and  Cope.  "  By  Jove !  I 
thought  it  might  be  one  of  those  confounded  oyster- 
critics.     Yes,  bring  me  a  glass  of  punch,  waitarrh  !" 

Mr.  Fitzgammon  O'Bouncer  always  spoke  to 
waiters  with  a  lofty  and  dignified  severity.  Mr.  F. 
O'Bouncer  was  intensely  aristocratic  in  his  feelings. 
Like  all  Irishmen,  he  came  of  a  great  but  impover- 
ished family,  was  heir  to  an  estate  of  unascertaiued 


FITZGAMMON   O  BOUNCER.  67 

rental,  was  a  lineal  descendant  of  the  ancient  Irish 
kings,  and  would  rather  have  been  damned  eternally 
than  admitted  that  he  had  had  a  drop  of  plebeian  blood 
in  his  veins,  since  Adam,  or  Lord  Monboddo's  mon- 
keys, whichever  legend  may  be  preferred. 

"He  was  a  penny-a-liner  in  Dublin,  sir,  Jim 
Bounce,  a  well-known  character,"  said  Bubbleton, 
the  manager,  one  day,  with  a  grin  of  galvanic  humor. 
Ye  gods !  how  O'Bouncer,  whose  maternal  ancestors, 
for  untold  ages,  were  Fitzgammons  and  princes — how 
he  would  have  shuddered  at  this  awful  saga  or  legend, 
invented  by  Bubbleton,  in  his  ferocious  scorn  of  an 
offending  critic ! 

But  do  not  let  the  reader  run  away  with  any  such 
idea.  Fitzgammon  O'Bouncer  was  no  doubt  a  gen- 
tleman, according  to  his  own  and  the  social  meaning 
of  the  phrase.  He  was  well  educated,  had  edited, 
even  to  the  death,  a  magazine  in  London,  wrote  in 
in  every  style  but  his  own  (not  having  any  in  parti- 
cular), and  was  what,  even  in  tlic  best  European 
society,  would  be  considered  an  accomplished  man. 
His  verses  were  very  sweet,  if  not  very  strong — like 
French  tea.  His  lively  writings  were  pleasant,  if 
hastily  written,  and,  therefore,  diluted — good  negus, 
if  not  rare  wine.  His  farce  was  not  damned,  if  not 
actually  successful,  "When  ho  wrote,  his  mind 
seemed  to  take  its  tone  from  the  last  book  lie  had 


68  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP, 

read,  or  tlie  last  person  lie  had  talked  to.  Witliout 
intending  it,  lie  was  a  wonderful  imitator — certainly 
never  a  servile  plagiarist.  In  short,  he  was  a  man 
of  universal  talent  and  adaptive  genius ;  a  brilliant 
versatility,  precociously  perfect,  in  his  way,  for  he 
was  scarcely  six  and  twenty  years  of  age. 

In  appearance  he  was  handsome,  had  a  fine  brow, 
and  a  decided  nose,  which  E'apoleon  would  have 
appreciated.  lie  was  carefully  dressed,  and  had 
palpably  trimmed  his  moustaches  and  whiskers  with 
laborious  exactness.  In  profile,  his  head  was  remark- 
able for  the  exaggeration  of  the  organs  of  self-esteem 
and  love  of  approval,  which,  with  the  fiatness  of  his 
veneration,  gave  his  cranium  a  strange  angulanty. 
His  figure  was  somewhat  tall,  and  his  frame  power- 
ful, active,  and  symmetrical.  Ilis  complexion  was 
florid,  his  hair  dark,  his  eyes  blue,  and  of  a  peculiar 
softness,  though  by  no  means  conveying  the  idea  of 
a  peculiar  gentle  nature.  On  the  contrary,  his  gene- 
ral expression  was  that  of  a  man  whose  duty  to  him- 
self would  be  performed  at  all  hazards,  whatever 
became  of  the  rest  of  the  world. 

Morally,  he  was  good-natured  and  impulsive,  yet 
pohtic  and  selfish.  He  was  extravagant  and  brave — ■ 
spurred  on  by  vanity,  he  could  be  generous  and 
heroic.  The  great  vice  of  his  character  was  his  inor- 
dinate  self-esteem,    which   had  taken   the  diseased 


FITZGAMMON   o'bOUNCER.  69 

form  of  ambition  for  superior  social  position.  Even 
as  it  was,  the  young  Irish  adventurer  fondly  afiected 
the  airs  of  a  scion  of  nobility — an  exiled  prince — 1 
know  not  wliat  role  de  fantasie,  to  the  great  amuse- 
ment of  bis  friends.  Ho  was  not  content  that  those 
to  whom  fortune  liad  given  inferior  education,  and 
antecedents  to  himself,  should  practically  stand  before 
him  in  the  social  scale  ;  he  also  wished  them  to  feel, 
and  in  a  manner  indirectly  acknowledge, Tliis  intan- 
gible advantage  which  he  believed  in  as  a  divine 
right,  and  yet  half  doubted  himself,  because  he  felt 
that  it  was  not  admitted  by  others. 

Mondel,  born  himself  of  a  distinguished  and  histori- 
cal family,  strove  to  reason  O'Bouncer  out  of  this 
weakness,  and  to  i)ersuade  him  into  a  philosophical 
republicanism,  which,  whilst  admitting  distinctions  of 
individuals  and  even  of  classes,  repudiates  the  inso- 
lence of  caste  as  a  delusion  and  a  dream  in  a  free 
country.  But  every  man  is  mad  on  some  tojiic,  and 
aristocratic  pretension  was  O'Bouncer's,  as  perhaps 
intellectual  domination  was  his  more  experienced 
friend's  monomania.  Fitzgammon  was  ever  taken  in 
by  the  absurd  tinsel  of  ISTew  York  fashionable  society, 
that  ridiculous  agglomeration  of  vulgarity,  ignorance, 
vanity  and  imitation,  in  whicli  the  London  and  Paris 
hourgeoisie  is  caricatured,  just  as  the  London  and 
Parisian  bourgeois  caricature  tlic  people  uf  ilic  ^i,\\\\v- 


70  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

ter  St.  Germain  and  St.  James,  themselves  a  carica- 
tm*e  of  defonct  aristocratic  society  wliicli  can  never 
again  be  reproduced  upon  this  earth.  For  the  sake  of 
\}iiQ  jpeojple^  the  future,  and  human  dignity  and  intelli- 
gence, I  rejoice  that  it  is  so. 


THE  PLOT.  71 


CnAPTEll  YI. 


THE  PLOT. 


JJ 


"  Well,"  said  Mendel,  "  to  return  to  your  fragedy 

"  Yes,  to  return  to  the  tragedy,"  said  Coi^e. 

O'Bouncer  stroked  liis  moustache,  wliich  being  of 
a  perfectly  natural  brown,  he  dyed  assiduously  of  a 
deep  purple  black,  and  tossing  his  head  back  like  a 
spirited  young  horse,  with  an  air  of  semi-disdainful 
self-complacency  thus  commenced  his  description  : 

"  In  the  first  place  I  flatter  myself  that  the  idea  of 
the  piece  is  entirely  original.  There  arc  too  rivals  in 
love  with  the  same  girl." 

"  Rivals  usually  are,"  observed  Cope,  parenthetic- 
ally. Cope  was  a  j^recisionist,  and  the  last  man  in 
the  world  to  make  allowances  for  the  tatal  facility  (»f 
Hibernian  narrative.  When  Cope  wrote,  every  word 
had  its  place  like  a  piece  on  a  cliess-board.  Even 
euphony  would  not  excuse  a  superfluous  adjective  in 
his  eyes.  Like  Mondel,  he  considered  writing  an  art 
and  talking  a  science.  As  for  O'Bouncer,  he  trusted 
to  habit  and  the  inspiration  of  the  moment,  both  in 


72  THE   SLAVE  OF  THE   LAMP. 

conversation  and  in  writing.  He  had  tlie  cunning  of 
tlie  man  of  the  world,  but  L'ttle  of  the  soul  of  the  artist 
in  his  natm-e.  Indeed  art  was  the  one  thing  which 
he  never  could  comprehend.  A  professional  critic,  he 
wrote  brilliantlj  but  falsely.  His  imagination  domi- 
nated his  judgment,  and  worst  crime  of  all,  he  was 
superficial — worse  yet,  consciously  superficial.  That 
is,  he  knew  and  disguised  his  ignorance  of  a  given 
topic  witli  consummate  dexterity.  This  his  widely- 
spread  information  enabled  him  to  do  with  great  tact 
and  success.  Perhaps  few  writers  for  the  preen  pos- 
sessed the  facility  and  the  power  of  this  accomplished 
personage.  Perhaps  to  say  that  in  his  way  he  was  a 
man  of  genius  would  scarcely  be  an  exaggeration. 

"  The  elder  rival,"  continued  O'Bouucer,  "  the  vil- 
lain of  the  piece,  a  man  of  no  family — stay,  no — a 
cousin  of  the  young  lady,  who  is  a  countess  in  her 
own  sight,  tells  the  other  rival,  the  young  Duke  of 
Whats-its-name,  that  she — the  countess — has  a  cork 
leg !  and  deplores  her  sensitiveness  on  the  subject. 
Of  course  it  is  impossible  for  the  young  rival  to  find 
out  with  certainty  whether  this  is  the  fact  or  not,  and 
he  is  haimted  by  the  most  harrowing  uncertainty. 

"  Why  does  he  not  ask  the  family  physician  ?"  said 
Cope. 

"  Or  give  her  an  opiate  and  find  out  whilst  she  is 
asleep  ?"  said  Mondel. 


THE   TLOT.  73 

"  Or  bribe  the  lady's  maid  ?" 

"  Or  i)ccp  tlu-ougb  lier  keyhole,  whilst  she  is 
undressing  ?" 

"Or  pretend  to  stumble  on  approaching  her;  or 
make  a  declaration  on  his  knees,  and  clasp  hers  in  his 
frantic  jjassion  ?" 

"  Or  openly  tell  the  story  as  an  example  of  the 
calumnies  afloat,  and  study  her  expression  ?" 

"Because,"  said  O'Bouncer,  "  none  of  those  actions 
would  suit  my  plot.  In  the  end,  he  sets  the  house  on 
fire  at  night,  and  saves  the  young  countess  himself  in 
her  night  dress,  when,  of  course,  he  has  an  ample 
oj)portunity  of  resolving  all  his  doubts.  Meanwhile, 
you  see,  the  other  rival  has  poisoned  his  wife,  who 

suddenly  turned  up,  and  " 

At  this  moment,  a  stranger,  who  had  entered  the 
saloon,  suddenly  descried  Mondel ;  and,  turning  away 
from  the  bar,  directed  his  step  towards  the  box,  of 
which  the  blind  had  been  left  unlowered  by  the  last 
waiter. 

The  new  comer  was  a  pale,  thin  man,  slightly 
above  the  ordinary  height,  erect  in  form,  stern  in 
mien,  and  of  commanding  aspect.  Beneath  his  dark, 
massive  brows,  flashed  eyes  cold,  scintillating,  and 
penetrating,  as  those  of  an  osprey.  lie  stretched  out 
his  hand  to  Mondel,  who  took  it  coldly,  and  smiled 
with  that  faint,  sad  smile,  which  had  yielded  to  a 

4 


74  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAJVEP. 

more  gennine  expression  of  merriment  dming  the 
commencement  of  O 'Bouncer's  recital. 

"  "What,  Mr.  Cope,  too?"  said  the  stranger;  "I  am 
decidedly  in  the  way  of  meeting  old  friends.  "When 
did  you  return  from  Paris  ?  I  thought  you  were  to 
be  secretary  of  legation?" 

"  Indeed  ?"  said  Cope,  who  at  first  looked  coldly 
on  the  stranger ;  "  I  assure  you  I  never  expected 
anything  of  the  kind." 

"  Well,  I  know  it  was  talked  of,  at  Washington," 
said  the  stranger,  with  the  gravity  of  a  diplomatist  of 
fifty,  though  he  himself  could  scarcely  have  reached 
iiis  thirtieth  year. 

"Sit  down,  Mr.  Berkeley,"  said  Mondel,  "and  let 
me  make  you  acquainted  with  Mr.  O'Bouncer. 
Mr.  Fitzgammon  O'Bouncer — Mr.  Berkeley.  Mr. 
O'Bouncer's  writing  must  be  known  to  you,  if  you 
ever  read  the  ixiagazines  or  reviews." 

"  Both  the  name  and  writings  of  Mr.  Fitzgammon 
O'Bouncer  are  perfectly  fiimiliar  to  me,"  said  he 
whom  Mondel  had  introduced  by  the  name  of  Berke- 
ley, with  consummate  gravity. 

"A  very  gentlemanly  man,"  thought  O'Bouncer 
to  himself;  "  decidedly  a  distingue  air — quite  aristo- 
cratic, in  fact;"  and  the  young  Milesian  was  per- 
fectly captivated  by  the  stranger,  to  whom  his  writ- 
ings and  name  were  so  perfectly  familiar. 


THE   PLOT,  75 

"  A  coxcomb  and  a  scribbler,"  was  the  saturnine 
reflection  of  the  self-possessed  diplomatist.  "  I  won- 
der what  tlie  devil  he  writes  ;  occasional  poems  and 
sketches  for  magazines,  I  suppose  ;  in  love  Avith  him- 
self and  every  pretty  woman  he  meets  ;  fond  of  dress, 
but  can't  do  it — ties  his  cravat  like  a  mathematical 
figure — got  quizzed  to  death  in  Europe  amongst  the 
fast  sets — wants  money,  ditto  savoir  faire — not 
worth  my  while  to  know — no  use — perhaps  an  en- 
cumbrance. Besides,  he  looks  inquisitive,  with 
those  soft,  selfish,  watchful  eyes  of  his  !" 

Like  an  electric  flash  these  thoughts  passed  through 
Berkeley's  cold  and  analytic  mind. 

"  Suppose  we  adjourn  to  my  rooms,  where  we  can 
smoke  our  cigars  more  at  ease,"  said  Mondel,  prepar- 
ing to  rise. 

"And  Mi-s.  Mondel  ?"  said  Berkeley. 

"  Mrs.  Mondel !     What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  curious,  if  you  have  poisoned  your 
wife,  or  given  her  the  sack,  like  the  Turks.  It  is  no 
afijair  of  mine.     Excuse  my  indiscretion." 

"My  wife?— my  w/fef''  said  Mondel,  somewhat 
coldly  ;  "  really  I  do  not  understand." 

"  jSTo  ?  Why,  did  you  not  introduce  me  to  her  at 
Niagara  Ealls,  last  year  ?  I  really  must  apologize  for 
the  mistake,  if  it  be  one." 

"Oh,    that    girl!"    siud  Mondel,    laughing.      "I 


76  THE   6LAYJE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

had  quite  forgotten.  She  is  married  to  a  man  at 
St.  Lonis.     I  had  a  letter  from  her  the  other  day." 

"What  was  she?"  said  O'Bonncer,  who  was  not  to 
be  beaten  even  by  a  born  Yankee  in  desire  for  in- 
formation on  all  topics. 

"  An  experiment,"  replied  Mondel,  gloomily,  "  and, 
as  usual,  a  foilnre." 

"  Woman  is  a  mistake  altogether,"  said  Cope. 
"  She  is  a  fascinating  humbug." 

Cope  did  not,  at  that  moment,  happen  to  be  in  love. 

"  I  wonder  if  there  will  be  any  sexes  in  the  next 
world?"  said  Mondel. 

"  I  hope  so,"  sighed  Co^^e,  piously,  thus  giving  the 
lie  to  his  affected  misogyny. 

"The  next  world!"  said  Berkeley.  "I  thought 
you  did  not  believe  in  anything,  Mondel." 

"  Kor  do  I — perhaps,  however,  that  is  next  door  to 
believing  in  everything." 

And  the  supposed  skeptic  rose,  and,  followed  by 
the  rest  of  the  party,  aj)proached  the  bar  of  the  saloon, 
for  the  purpose  of  settling  the  score. 

As  they  crossed  the  room,  Berkeley  said,  carelessly, 
to  Mondel,  "You  know  Mrs.  Yonkers?" 

"Yes,  a  charming  woman,"  replied  Mondel,  care- 
lessly.    "Do  you  know  her?" 

"  Intimately,"  said  Berkeley,  and  his  voice  trembled 
slightly. 


THE   TLOT.  77 

Mondel  looked  his  collocutov  fall  iu  the  face,  and 
said,  with  affected  enthusiasm,  "  She  is  very  beauti- 
ful !" 

"  Very  /"  rej^lied  Berkeley,  and  his  fierce,  quick 
glance  betrayed  to  Mendel  a  jealous  and  implacable 
rival.  Immediately,  the  idea  of  making  this  accident 
a  bridge  of  safety  for  his  own  new-born  passion 
crossed  the  mind  of  the  acute  reader  of  souls. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Columbia  Yonkers  ?"  said 
Mondel,  with  difiiculty  commanding  his  own  voice 
and  features. 

"  A  very  pretty  girl — charming !"  said  Berkeley 
indiiferently. 

"  lie  loves  Amelia ;  praised  be  the  unknown  gods !" 
reflected  Mondel. 

Poor  H.  B.  Yonkers !  thou  respectable  man  of  large 
property,  for  how  very  little  didst  thou  enter  into 
the  calculation  of  this  penniless  adventurer ! 

Meanwhile,  the  three  vagabonds  had  also  emerged 
from  their  box,  and  a^lvanced  towards  the  bar. 

"  Bob !"  said  the  Slinker,  tugging  at  Install  friend's 
coat-tails,  "  Bob,  there  he  is !" 

"  Where  ?— who  ?" 

"  There  \—he—i\\Q  Alterer." 

And  the  two  vagabonds  at  the  same  instant,  fixed 
their  eyes  upon  Berkeley,  who  cast  towards  them  a 
furtive  glance  of  disdain  and  menace. 


78  THE    SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

At  the  same  time,  O'Boimcer  took  the  opj)ortumty 
of  surveying  the  mysterious  three  with  an  air  of  con- 
temptuous curiosity,  so  little  disguised,  that  Confi- 
dence Bob,  who  recognized  the  editor  (whom  he  had 
seen  before),,  though  the  editor  did  not  in  the  least 
remember  Bob,  Confidence  Bob,  we  repeat,  being 
full  of  brandy  and  cigars,  and  at  least  two-thirds 
drunk,  thus  rudely  abandoned  all  conventional 
restraint,  and,  if  I  may  use  the  expression,  let  loose 
the  dogs  of  war  by  the  following  explosion  of  indig- 
nation : — ■ 

"  What  the  blazes  are  you  staring  at,  with  your 
damnation  moustache,  you  precious  shadow  of  a 
tailor,  you  infernal  Paddy  you?" 

The  row  which  followed  the  utterance  of  this 
remarkable  speech,  shall  be  described  Homerically  in 
a  chapter  devoted  to  the  subject. 

If  it  were  not  for  love-making  and  fighting,  life 
would  be  a  very  dull  affair,  and  novels  about  specula- 
tions in- cotton  and  Mcaragua  stock  would  hardly  be 
considered  jvorks  of  an  interesting  or  exciting  charac- 
ter. Therefore,  most  respectable  reader,  pray  excuse 
my  veracious  description  of  this  most  disreputable 
shindy. 


THE   KOW.  79 


CHAPTEE  yn. 

THE   EOW. 

The  O'Boimcer — that  excited  magnifico,  Tvliom  the 
stem  fiat  of  destiny  and  relentless  duns  had  driven  to 
these  Western  shores — the  O'Bouncer,  that  loftily 
descended  young  Celtic  prince,  maternally  proceed- 
ing from  the  illustrions  and  world-renowned  house  of 
Fitzgammon,  that  brilhant  author  of  a  possibly  forth- 
coming tragedy,  remained  what  the  French  called 
atterre^  earth-glued — amazed,  stunned  at  the  audacity 
of  Bob — Bob  of  confidential  devices  ! 

Possibly,  the  O'Bouncer's  first  idea  was,  hke 
Yathek,  the  Caliph  of  Bagdad,  to  destroy  his  enemy 
by  one  terrible  look.  That  fiiiHng,  it  occurred  to  the 
rage-electrified  Fitzgammon  to  take  out  a  revolver 
which  he  carried  in  his  pocket,  and  at  once  dismiss 
the  wi'etch  who  had  insulted  the  majesty  of  his  royal 
blood  to  infernal  Tartarus  and  the  shadowy  shores 
of  Acheron.  Prudence,  however,  and  a  dim  vision 
of  trial  by  jury,  and  other  consequences  dreadful  to 
dwell  upon,  restrained  this  reckless  impulse.    Lastly, 


80  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

O'Boimcer  resolved  to  rush  immediately  on  the  pro- 
fane outrager  of  liis  grandezza,  and  give  him  tho 
soundest  thrashing  possible  within  the  briefest  possible 
period  of  time, 

"  I  may  get  a  black  eye,  or  a  swelled  lip,"  thought 
the  conventional  O'Bouncer;  "but  that  must  be 
chanced,  even  if  I  do  not  see  Miss  Candlesoap  for  a 
fortnight.  It  is  an  awful  sacrifice.  However,  here 
goes!     At  the  worst,  I  have  the  revolver." 

Miss  Candlesoap,  be  it  parenthetically  remarked, 
was  an  heiress  of  the  Fifth  Avenue  hierarchy,  and 
an  object  of  the  O'Bouncer's  wild  young  heart's 
devotion.  I^ot  that  the  great  Fitzgammon  was  guilty 
of  falling  in  love,  in  the  extravagant  sense  of  the 
word.  He  was  too  sensible  for  that,  and  worshipped 
the  pure  imity  or  abstract  number  one  far  too  in- 
tensely. But  Miss  Candlesoap  was  pretty,  and  with 
her  quarter  of  a  million  dollars  Fitzgammon  would, 
in  his  own  eyes,  and  in  those  of  the  w^orld,  bo,  at 
length,  somebody.  And  to  become  somebody  was 
the  grand  aim  of  O'Bouncer's  most  transcendant 
ambition. 

'  It  may  be  here  darkly  hinted,  that  old  Candlesoap 
laid  the  modest  foundations  of  his  fortune  in  a  corner 
grocery,  by  a  judicious  scorn  of  weights  and  mea- 
sures, and  a  dexterity  in  adulterating  liquors  rarely 
eurpassed.    But  that  was  long  ago,  and  the  Candle- 


THE   KOW.  81 

soaps  were  now  merchant  princes,  and  grandees  in 
the  world  of  the  Snookses  and  the  Joneses,  those 
Jnpiters  and  Apollos  of  the  New  York  fashionable 
Olympus.  O'Bouncer  himself  assured  Mondel  (piti- 
less and  unimpressionable  skeptic !)  that  the  Candle- 
soaps  were  of  noble  origin  in  the  old  country,  and 
quite  equal  to  the  Percys  and  Howards  in  their  way ; 
though,  indeed,  O'Bouncer  might  have  well  dis- 
pensed with  nobility  in  a  wife,  seeing  that  he  had  so 
larffe  an  amount  of  that  intanmljle  transatlantic  com- 
modity  enshrined  in  his  own  person.  But  it  is  an  old 
proverb,  which  says  of  some  people — '"the  more  they 
have,  the  more  they  want."  Some  men  are  intellec-. 
tual  gluttons ;  though  the  memoirs  of  such  gluttons 
are  rarely  as  candid  as  that  amusing  autobiography 
published  a  couple  of  years  ago,  in  a  review,  by  one 
of  O 'Bouncer's  most  distinguished  compatriots. 

Confidence  Bob,  now  the  Robert  Mombcross,  Esq., 
of  social  life,  whose  personal  courage,  like  that  of  the 
average  run  of  rogues,  was  of  a  very  flickering  bright- 
ness, mistook  O'Bouncer's  moral  hesitation,  very 
naturally,  for  a  symptom  of  i^hysical  timidity;  and, 
puffing  his  cigar  very  coolly  in  the  face  of  the  fiery 
editor,  already  seemed  to  consider,  in  whist-player's 
phrase,  the  odd  trick  as  his  own. 

He  was  destined  to  be  cruelly  undeceived.  Thus 
perchance  might  an  inexperienced  hound  have  ap- 

4* 


82  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

proaclied  a  coucliant  pantlier,  or  a  foollsli  lieron  in 
the  early  days  of  ornithology  have  flaunted  to  his  face 
a  fierce  gerfalcon,  resting  from  his  sunward  flight. 

O'Bouncer's  eyes  flashed  a  bluish  flame.  Quick- 
as  light  he  struck  the  long  vagabond  one  terrible  blow 
between  the  eyes,  which  sent  the  Confidence  man  reel- 
ing dizzily  against  the  nearest  pillar. 

"  Stand  up,  Bob,  and  walk  into  him,  you  fool !" 
roared  the  excited  Professor,  whose  unworthy  pupil  in 
the  art  of  self-defence  that  personage  had  been. 

Eut  O'Bouncer  did  not  care  a  chip  for  the  noble  art 
of  self-defence.  His  blood  was  up.  Black  eyes  and 
the  loss  of  Miss  Candlesoap  excepted,  he  was  afraid 
of  nothing  very  particularly.  O'Bouncer  might  be  a 
coxcomb,  he  certainly  was  not  a  coward. 

"  Bravo !  well  done !"  cried  Mondel,  as  at  the  sec- 
ond round  Mr.  Kobert  Momb  cross  measured  his  six 
feet  upon  the  floor. 

"  Come,  none  of  your  nonsense !"  grunted  the  Pro- 
fessor, squaring  up  to  Dudley,  and  bent  upon  retriev- 
ing the  honor  of  his  party. 

"  My  good  man,"  said  Mondel,  in  that  deep  tone 
of  confident  menace,  which  to  the  vulgar  is  a  mys- 
tery, "  take  care — I  warn  you  you  will  hurt  yourself." 

"You  are  armed,  I  suppose?"  retorted  the  rufiian, 
scornfully,  and  he  drew  a  formidable  bowie  knife. 

"  Stand  l)ack,  idiot !"  shouted  a  voice  of  thunder. 


THE   ROW,  83 

and   the  Alterer  sprang  forwards  to  tlirow  himself 
between  his  familiar  and  Mondel,  who  had  coolly 
stepped,  one  step  backwards,  and  drawn  an  exquisitely 
small  double-barrelled  pistol,  suspended,  like  a  watch, 
by  a  line  steel  chain  from  his  neck.     At  the  same 
moment  Peregrine  Cope,  who  had  smoked  calmly 
during  the  whole  scene,  seeing  the  bowie-knife  di-awn, 
and  seized  with  apprehension  for  liis  friend's  safety, 
sprang  forwards,  and,  regardless  of  his  personal  danger, 
laid  the  huge  athlete  prostrate  with  one  crashing  blow 
of  a  large  cut  glass  decanter,  caught  up,  in  the  excite- 
ment of  the  moment,  as  a  weapon.     Simultaneously 
with  this  unexpected  movement  of  Cope,  was  heard 
the  sharp  report  of  Mondcl's  pistol,  and  as  if  by  an 
ekctric  shock  of  sympathy,  every  one  in  the  saloon 
was  suddenly  calmed  and  awe-stricken.     Confidence 
Bob,  O'Bouncer,  Cope,  Berkeley,  Mondel,  and   the 
landlord  of  the  saloon  (who  was  kicking  the  Slinker 
from  behind  his  bar,  where  that  humble  practitioner 
in  human  spoliation  had  taken  refuge  on  all  foui-s  like 
a  rat),   all  crowded  round  the  wounded  champion, 
who,  like  the  villains  in  the  old  romances,  had  fallen 
without  a  groan,  and  lay  perfectly  still  and  bleedino- 
upon  the  floor. 

"  You  have  shot  him,"  said  O'Bouncer. 

"  I  fear  you  have  killed  him  !"  said  Berkelev,  anx- 
iously. 


84:  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

Monclel  said  nothing.  He  knelt  down  and  sought 
hastily  for  traces  of  his  bullet ;  in  so  doing  he  acci- 
dentally drew  a  large  silver  watch  from  the  Professor's 
waistcoat  pocket,  when,  O  marvellous  fortune !  a  deep 
indent  in  the  very  centre  of  its  thick  tarnished  case, 
and  a  corroborative  mark  on  the  exterior  of  his  waist- 
coat demonstrated  that  it  was  to  the  bottle,  and  not 
to  the  bullet,  that  the  pugilist  was  indebted  for  his 
possible  quietus.  Accordingly  Mondel  proceeded  to 
examine  the  wound  inflicted  by  the  decanter  of 
Cope.  It  was  a  deep  ugly  gash,  from  which  the 
blood  flowed  freely. 

"I  fear  the  skull  is  fractured,"  said  Mondel. 

"  I  did  it  to  save  your  life,"  said  Cope. 

That  Cope  had  saved  the  life  of  Mondel  was  scarcely 
doubtful,  for,  as  the  bullet  had  failed  to  take  effect, 
another  instant  would  probably  have  seen  the  knife 
of  the  pugilist  buried  in  the  body  of  his  antagonist. 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear  friend,  you  did  wisely,"  said 
Mondel ;  "  still  I  should  be  sorry  that  the  man  should 
die  in  consequence  of  a  mere  drunken  brawl." 

''  Where  does  he  live  ? — who  is  he  ?"  said  O'Boun- 
cer,  looking  round  for  the  companions  of  the  wounded 
vagabond. 

But  they  were  no  longer  present-  At  a  wave  of 
the  Alteref's  hand  they  had  quietly  absconded.  Tlie 
superior  demon  had  judged  it  best  to  get  rid  of  his 


THE   ROW.  85 

imps,  for  fear  they  should,  by  some  unforeseen  inad- 
vertency, compromise  their  master  and  his  character. 

During  tlie  whole  scene,  Berkeley  had  been  lillcd 
with  the  utmost  dread  of  exposure.  His  arrival  at 
the  saloon  had  been  purely  accidental.  ISTotlung 
could  have  annoyed  him  more  than  an  encounter 
with  his  agents  in  so  public  a  place.  What  to  do 
with  the  Professor  perplexed  him.  The  man  was 
wounded,  might  have  a  fever,  become  delirious,  talk 
at  random ;  yet  to  take  him  home  to  his,  Berkeley's, 
house,  was  a  perilous  proceeding,  and  might  lead  to  the 
detection,  of  his  own  malpractices,  or  at  least  throw 
suspicion  on  his  character.  The  Alterer  did  not  dare 
run  any  risks,  nevertheless  he  had  almost  resolved  to 
extend  the  hospitality  of  his  roof  to  his  unfortimate 
minister,  when  to  his  horror  and  alarm  Mondel  said, 
abruptly:  " I  have  my  reasons  for  wishing  this  affair 
to  be  hushed  up  (][uietly.  It  is  now  late.  Every 
moment  strangers  may  enter.  1  have  resolved  to 
take  this  man  home  with  me,  and  have  him  attended 
to.  Cope,  will  you  get  a  carriage  while  I  bind  up  his 
head  ?     On  our  way  we  will  call  for  Doctor  Vortex." 

Thus  the  pugihstic  Professor,  housebreaker  and 
robber,  became  thp  guest  of  Mondel,  whilst  the 
Alterer,  after  promising  to  call  and  inquire  about  the 
sick  man  next  day,  walked  homewards  in  a  state  of 
doubt,  suspicion,  and  vexation,  which  so  absorbed  his 


S6  THE    8LAYE   OF   THE   LA1I1\ 

mind  that  lie  did  not  even  observe  that  the  illustrious 
Fitzgammon  O 'Bouncer  was  walking  by  his  side,  and 
fighting  the  battle  with  Confidence  Bob  over  again, 
after  the  custom  of  most  heroes,  ancient  and  modern. 

"  Come  and  see  me,"  said  the  Irishman,  frankly,  as 
they  parted. 

"  I'll  see  you  d d  first !"  thought  the  Alterer, 

who  had  other  business  on  hand  than  to  make  new 
acquaintances  amongst  fast  young  men  of  letters. 
However,  he  bowed  with  exquisite  politeness,  and 
replied  cordially : 

"  Nothing  will  give  me  greater  pleasure,  Mr. 
O'Bouncer.  Good  night,  sir ;  I  hojDe  your  repose  will 
not  be  disturbed  by  the  nervous  excitement  you  have 
undergone." 

And  so  they  parted  at  the  corner  of  — th  street. 

"Devilish  gentlemanly  fellow,  Berkeley,"  mused 
O'Bouncer,  "  good  name — no  doubt  a  person  of 
respectable  descent.  At  any  rate  I  hope  his  father 
was  not  a  shop-keeper.  It  is  a  horrid  thing  to  know 
a  man  whose  father  was  a  shop-keeper.  One  is  apt  to 
wound  his  feelings  in  talking.  "Who  is  Cope,  I  won- 
der ?  Not  an  old  Knickerbocker,  evidently,  or  his 
name  would  be  Goosefelt,  or  Yanderscrewler,  or  some 
such  name.  He  has  not  the  aii'  noble.  None  of  these 
Yankees  have.  He  is  too  lively  to  be  dignified,  and 
makes  himself  quite  at  home  with  you  at  starting. 


THE   EOW.  87 

Mondel  seems  to  know  liim  very  well.  I  wonder 
where  they  met  ?  I  wonder  if  Berkeley  or  Cope  are 
rich  ?  I  wish,  by  the  way,  Mondel  had  shot  tliat  fel- 
low ;  a  trial  for  murder  wonld  have  been  so  exciting. 
I  don't  quite  like  Mondel.  Sometimes  I  fancy  he 
does  not  believe  in  my  pedigree.  I  suspect  his  own 
is  rather  mystified,  or  he  would  not  be  so  damnably 
fond  of  democracy.  Besides,  he  has  no  respect  for 
Mshmen ;  and  the  way  he  laughs  at  our  runaway 
patients  is  disgusting,  though  for  that  matter  they  are 
a  cursed  set  of  blockheads  and  bores  !" 

Poor  O'Bouncer  !  he  secretly  despised  his  country. 
He  was  an  Anglicised  Celt.  To  call  him  Englishman, 
was  the  sm-cst  way  to  flatter  him.  He  lacked  the 
patriotic  monomania  which  often  supplies  the  place 
of  so  many  other  advantages.  He  was  an  Irishman 
because  he  could  not  help  it.  How  gladly  Avould  ho 
have  forgotten  it,  could  the  world  have  forgotten  it 
also.  But  the  O'Bouncer  name  was  legion  in  the 
land.  Tliere  was  no  evading  the  destinies ;  so 
O'Bouncer  contented  himself  with  cuttino;  his  own 
compatriots.  To  do  him  justice,  O'Bouncer  was  too 
much  of  a  man  to  be  an  Irishman  in  America,  or 
mingle  in  the  petty  intrigues  of  American-Irish 
politics.  Strong  was  his  hope,  that  the  grand  Candle- 
soap  alliance  would  finally  settle  the  difficulty. 

"  At  any  rate,"  thought  O'Bomicer,  "  I  can  take 


88  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

tlie  girl  to  Europe,  and  spend  lier  money  in  Paris ; 
and  a  fellow  witli  tin  is  sure  to  get  into  society  some- 
how!" 

O'Bouncer  was  a  refined  sensualist,  and  could 
imagine  no  better  life  than  the  luxurious  corruption 
of  European  aristocracy.  To  share  that  life,  was  his 
ambition,  his  hope,  his  di-eam. 

It  was  really  a  great  pity  that  he  was  not  a  man  of 
large  fortune,  and  Yiscount  Fitzgammon.  He  would 
have  enjoyed  a  title  and  a  fortune  so  intensely.  But 
the  Parcse  were  inexorable. 


A   CURIOUS   GIRL.  89 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

A    CURIOUS    GIRL. 

CoLuiviBiA  YoNKERS  was  ouc  of  tliosG  rare  women, 
wlio,  when  they  meet  with  men  of  a  certain  class, 
become  truly  wonderful  and  witch-like  in  their  attri- 
butes. 

Taussenel  in  his  Passional  Zoology  (an  admirable 
work  whicli  Dr.  Edgeworth  Lazarus  has  admirably 
translated)  describes  the  "  blonde  woman"  as  "  the 
most  precious  gift  of  heaven,  a  charmmg  creation 
with  which  the  Supreme  Ordainer  of  things  has  gifted 
the  pale  countries  of  the  North,  to  compensate  them 
for  the  absence  of  the  sun." 

In  truth,  to  those  who  understand  her,  the  fair  beauty, 
m  her  full  development,  is  a  most  admirable  and 
soul-dazzling  creature.  From  her  we  derive  our  only 
idea  of  angels,  goddesses,  elemental  nymphs,  and  all 
beautiful  spirits  superior  to  man.  Poetry  and  Art 
prove  it.  Tlie  Terrestrial  Venus  is  a  brunette,  the 
Celestial  is  a  l)londe.  Dark  beauty  gives  security  to 
the   affections,   fair  loveliness  enchantment  to    the 


90  THE   BLA\T5   OF   TIIE   LAMP. 

0 

imagination.  Tlie  one  may  afford  ns  real  satisfaction, 
the  other  offers  ns  the  delicious  illusions,  the  enchant- 
ing tantalizations  of  desires,  for  ever  veiled  in 
mystery. 

But  I  must  not  attempt  even  to  enter  upon  that 
great  study  of  my  life,  the  poetry  of  organization. 
Eather  let  me  recall  a  dialogue  between  my  restless, 
roving,  ideal-chaser  Mondel,  and  the  blonde  Colum- 
bia, which  happened  at  their  very  second  interview, 
and  some  days  before  the  scene  of  "  quiet  agitation" 
which  we  described  in  a  former  chapter. 

The  encounter  of  two  such  minds  as  those  of  Co- 
lumbia and  Mondel  was  peculiarly  interesting,  from 
the  opposing  similarity  of  their  characteristics. 

They  had  arrived  at  a  like — and  yet  how  different 
a  result,  by  roads  peculiar  to  each.  Columbia,  the 
delicate  student,  devouring  with  intense  ardor  the 
literature  of  past  ages  and  of  the  modern  time,  even 
to  newspapers  and  reviews,  had  yet  lived  in  compara- 
tive seclusion  from  the  w^orld.  She  divined  every- 
thing ;  she  understood  life ;  she  knew,  men,  women 
and  their  passions;  she  judged  calmy,  clearly,  and 
justly  of  life  and  its  evils,  with  a  sadness  unembittered 
by  experience  of  personal  suffering. 

Mondel,  on  the  other  hand,  the  intellectual  wrestler 
with  Life  and  Destiny,  though  essentially  a  student, 
had  seen,  felt,  and  done  enough  since  boyhood,  to  throw 


A   CU3JI0US   GIKL.  91 

all  liis  reading  in  the  shade.  The  observations  on 
men  and  manners  he  had  found  in  books,  had  been 
verified  by  fact.  He  knew  more  than  he  had  read, 
more  than  it  was  possible  to  learn  by  reading.  lie, 
too,  had  pervaded  the  book  world,  and  with  the  edu- 
cation and  strength  of  a  man^  read  and  digested 
innumerable  volumes,  which,  to  Columbia,  were 
unknown.  He  had  reached  the  Ultima  Thule, — the 
last  stage  of  written  progress, — and  dashed  into  the 
chaos  beyond.  He  was  a  pioneer  in  the  career  of 
thought,  an  origin'ator,  and  no  longer  an  absorber  of 
ideas. 

Emancipated,  at  fifteen,  by  his  transplantation  to  a 
German  university,  he  had  travelled,  fought,  wi-itten, 
speculated,  with  a  restlessness  that  had  enabled  him 
to  sow  in  many  fields,  without  yet  reaping  a  harvest 
in  any.  Thus  he  found  himself  with  a  scattered  and 
fragmentary  reputation,  an  empty  purse,  and  a 
gloomy,  discontented,  desolate  indifierence  to  life, 
on  the  verge  of  his  thirtieth  year,  weary  of  a  vain 
search  for  an  ever-flying  happiness,  and  ready  to  wel- 
come death  or  any  desperate  adventure,  as  an  escape 
from  apathy  and  monotony.  But  none  can  foresee 
what  change  a  single  hour  may  operate  in  human 
feelings.  IMondcl  met  Mrs.  Yonkers,  and  her  smiling 
beauty  suddenly  made  life  vaguely  tolerable.  He 
saw  Columbia,  her  step-daughter,  and  lo  I  his  heart 


92  TKE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

began  to  beat,  bis  nerves  to  tbrill,  bis  eyes  to  brigbt 
en,  bis  soul  to  expand  its  drooping  wings.  In  tbe 
energy  of  tbat  new  sensation,  bis  bope  in  tbe  futnre 
revived,  bis  self-respect  and  confidence  were  restored ; 
be  was  again  tbe  man  to  face  a  dun  or  a  dilemma 
witbout  faltering.  In  one  day  after  tbat  first  and 
memorable  interview,  during  wbicb  tbe  telegrapb  of 
looks,  vibrating  nerves,  and  inflamed  fancy,  was  tbe 
only  medium  of  communication  between  bim  and  bis 
new-found  idol,  Mondel  completed  a  poem,  on  wbicb 
be  bad  concentrated  bis  forcC;  and  in  wbicb  be  bad 
been  long  delayedbyutter  depression  of  spirits;  wrote 
balf  a  dozen  letters  on  business,  wbicb,  for  tbe  time, 
retrieved  bis  apparently  desperate  finances ;  and  pro- 
jected, as  be  lay  in  bed  at  nigbt,  a  course  of  enter- 
prising worlv,  wbicb,  if  persevered  in,  would  make 
bim,  in  tbe  space  of  less  tban  twelve  montbs,  com- 
paratively easy  and  independent  in  circumstances. 

And  all  tbis  was  tbe  result  of  an  bour's  interview 
witb  a  fair  girl,  and  of  one  or  two  glances  from  a  pair 
of  large,  spiritual,  blue  eyes. 

Talk  of  tonics  !  Wby  tbere  is  more  power,  in  one 
look  of  beauty,  to  revive  tbe  deadened  brain  of  jaded 
and  despondent  intellect,  tban  all  tbe  tonics  in  tbe 
world  !  Talk  of  poets  writing  under  tbe  influence  of 
cbampagne,  not  to  mention  gin  and  water  !  Wbat 
borrible  and  indescribable  paltry  nonsense !    A  toucb 


A   CUEIOUS   GIKL.  '  93 

of  tlie  tip  of  her  fingers,  at  parting,  will  carry  -with,  it 
more  electric  vitality  tlian  all  the  vintage  of  Rhine- 
land,  France,  and  Cj-prns,  not  to  mention  Cozzen's 
sparkling  Catawba,  from  om*  own  Ohio,  which  is 
well  worthy  the  rare  honor  of  being  sold  by  a  poet ! 

"  You  are  a  great  reader,  Mr.  Mondel,"  said  Co- 
lumbia, on  the  occasion  above  referred  to. 

"  ]^o.  I  read  little  now.  I  am  tired  of  reading," 
said  Mondel,  gravely. 

"  Tired  of  reading  ?"  said  the  fair  student.  "  How 
can  any  one  be  tired  of  reading  ?" 

"  Yery  easily,  when  books  offer  nothing  but  repe- 
tition of  familiar  ideas.  In  order  that  the  world 
should  progress,  it  is  necessary  to  have  students  who 
are  students  of  something  else  than  books." 

"  I  understand ;  you  philosopliize  ?" 

"  Not  exactly.  I  have  the  same  objection  to  philo- 
sophizing that  I  have  to  reading.  It  is  an  endless 
repetition." 

"What  do  you  do,  then  ? — ^7r(?«w2.,  perhaps,"  said 
Columbia,  witli  an  arch  smile. 

Yery  few  women,  be  it  remarked,  have  any  sense  ' 
of  humor,  especially  of  refined  humor.  It  is  a  great 
relief  to  find  one  who  can  appreciate  a  joke,  that  is, 
not  as  broad  as  a  cart-wheel.  On  the  other  hand, 
they  are  far  beyond  men  in  comprehending  the  sub- 
tlest delicacies  of  sentiment.   "Watch  them  at  th-amatic 


04  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

representations  :  they  will  only  laugli  at  the  grossest 
hits,  yet  be  penetrated  by  the  most  shadowy  nnance 
of  pathos. 

Columbia  was  an  exception  to  the  rule.  Her  sense 
of  humor  was  keen ;  and  no  sooner  did  Mondel 
make  this  delightful  discovery,  than  she  rose  im- 
mensely in  his  estimation.  The  fact  is,  humor  is 
essential  to  the  reason.  Causality  and  comparison 
(to  use  phrenological  nomenclature)  give  only  sense 
of  sequence  and  resemblance;    it   is    humor  which, 


* 


giving  us  the  perception  of  differences  or  contrasts,'^ 
enables  us  to  escape  the  hasty  conclusions  at  which 
people  in  whom  this  organ  is  weakly  developed,  are 
perpetually  arriving. 

All  great  men  make  jokes,  and  are  born  humorists. 
It  must  be  admitted  that  some  distinguished  person- 
ages have  had  a  particularly  solemn  style  of  joking. 

To  resume  om*  dialogue. 

"Dream!"  said  Mondel — "of  course  I  dream. 
What  would  life  be  without  dreaming  ?  But  dream- 
ing is  involuntary.  It  is  not  logical  to  call  dreaming 
studying." 

"  Excuse  my  inexactness,"  said  Columbia ;  "  and 
let  me  ask  you  jjlainly  what  you  do,  in  place  of  read- 
ing, to  keep  up  your  character  as  a  student  ?" 

*  Vide  Art.  "  National  Humor,"  by  the  present  writer  in  late 
American  (Wliig)  Review. 


A  CUEIOUS  GIRL.  95 

"I  observe  facts  and  plienomena,"  replied  Mondel. 
"I  read  everwliere  the  book  of  ISTature.  I  extract  from 
outward  signs,  the  inward  and  spiritual  grace.  Chiefly 
I  read  men,  and,  like  a  geologist  or  a  chemist,  clas- 
sify my  specimens.  Every  variety  of  organization  is 
to  me  a  new  study — its  characteristics  the  handwrit- 
ing of  the  fates.  Every  face  is  a  dial — every  feature 
a  cypher." 

f'  And  what  is  the  object  of  this  scientific  criticism 
of  maakind  ?"  said  Columbia. 

"  Knowledge  is  power.  To  know  men,  is  to  rule 
them." 

"Then  you  aspire  to  rule  ?" 

"  I  do  not  aspire.  It  is  my  nature.  I  love  free- 
dom beyond  all  gifts  of  hfe.  To  be  free,  one  must  be 
master;  for  are  not  all  the  world  either  slaves  or 
masters,  spiritually  or  bodily?" 

"Tlien,"  said  Colmnbia,  with  restrained  interest, 
"  you  would  govern  men  with  your  thoughts  ?" 

"  My  dear  Miss  Yonkers,"  said  Mondel,  pausing, 
"  I  perceive  that  I  am  becoming  terribly  egotistical, 
and,  besides,  running  the  risk  of  being  misunderstood. 
Let  us  change  the  subject." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Columbia,  eagerly.  "  /do  not  mis- 
understand you.     Go  on." 

"I  really  do  not  know,"  said  Mondel,  "why  I 
should  speak  to  you  r.3  I  have  never  spoken  to  per- 


96  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAJilP. 

haps  any  living  being  before,"  and  be  looked  witb 
earnest  admiration  into  tbe  eyes  of  Columbia  for  an 
instant,  tben  resumed  bis  speech,  before  she  had  time 
to  feel  embarrassed  by  this  claim  to  exclusive  sym- 
pathy.— "  He  who  takes  the  foremost  steps  in  sciencej 
must  be  followed  by  all  men ;  therefore,  he  is  the  ruler 
of  the  world.  He  who  professes  knowledge  superior 
to  all-  other  men,  is  thereby  raised  above  all  other 
men  ;  therefore,  is  sjiiritually  their  king.  To  aim  at 
the  discovery  of  more  important  facts  and  higher 
truths  than  have  yet  been  known,  is  therefore  the 
highest  ambition ;  and  this  is  the  ambition  of  the  v/ise. 
In  this  sense  I  would  rule — nay,  were  it  my  destiny, 
must  rule^and  in  no  other.  I  do  not  despise  out- 
ward forms  of  power,  but  I  would  never  seek  them, 
by  grovelling  before  the  herd.  Science,  poetrj^,  and 
art  are  of  themselves  crowns  to  their  votaries.  The 
student,  the  poet,  and  the  artist,  are  kings,  who  give 
from  their  individual  wealth  to  the  many.  The  poli- 
tical ruler  exists  by  sufferance,  and  owes  his  place  to 
the  patience  or  fear  of  the  people.  When  all  the 
world  is  educated,  there  will  be  no  government  but 
public  opinion,  and  stupid  mediocrity  will  no  longer 
occupy  presidential  thrones  or  ministerial  cabinets ; 
for  there  will  be  none  to  occupy. 

"  Your  politics  are  strange  enough,  compared  to 
those  of  our  stump  orators,"  said  Columbia. 


A  CURIOUS   GIEL.  97 


« 


I  am  an  anarchist,"  said  Monclel.  "I  foresee 
the  downfall  of  all  bnite-force  systems,  and  the  reign 
of  pure  reason  and  liberty.  SHippose  evefi,  extrava- 
gant as  is  the  supposition,  individualism  substituted 
for  government  to-morrow  in  this  country,  do  you 
imagine  that  we  should  turn  barbarians,  and  cut  one 
another's  throats?  But,  of  course,  I  do  not  propose 
any  such  abrupt  change  from  the  present  to  the  new 
system.  All  I  say  is,  that  I  see  the  line  which  pro- 
gress must  take  in  America." 

"  And  what  is  to  become  of  Europe?" 

"  We  are  to  conquer  it." 

"  To  conquer  Europe  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  by  our  ideas  and  our  wealth,  if  not  by  our 
arms,  and  the  revolt  of  its  inhabitants.  Of  course  a 
free  Europe  must  be  philosophically  regarded  as  an 
American  conquest." 

"  And  when  do  you  think  it  will  happen  ?"  said 
Columbia,  much  excited. 

"Soon!"  said  Mondel,  fixing  his  triumphant  gaze 
upon  Columbia's  sf)arkling  eyes — "  much  sooner  than 
people  dream  of" 

"  How  soon?" 

"  Perhaps  within  ten  years.  Ten  years  is  a  cen- 
tury now,  compared  to  the  times  of  our  fathers.  Only 
let  the  new  storm  of  speculation  pass  over." 

"  "What  storm  of  speculation  ?" 


98  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 

"  The  Ocean  Transit  Company  storm,  whicli  eren 
now  looms  in  the  horizon.  It  will  leave  railways  and 
Mississippi  schemes  in  the  rear;  and,  what  is  most 
astonishing,  it  will  end  in  no  panic,  but  in  universal 
triumph.  Yes!"  said  Mondel,  warming  with  his 
favorite  subject.  "  Inventions  have  been  made  of  late, 
which,  though  temporarily  neglected  by  the  booby- 
ism  of  bloated  capitalists,  will  soon  fm^cQ  their  way 
into  favor.  Steam  will  be  discarded,  or  used  in  an 
improved  way,  fuel  reduced  to  a  nominal  outlay,  and 
four  or  five  days  become  the  ordinary  voyage  to  Eu- 
rope, not  to  mention  that  aerial  transit  will  be  put 
into  practice." 

"  What !  is  it  possible  to  travel  in  balloons  v/itli 
certainty  ?" 

"  ISTothing  is  easier,"  replied  Mondel.  "  The  true 
]3rinciple  has  been  known  to  a  few  men  of  science  for 
years  past.  It  is  to  rise  and  fall  at  angles  produced  by 
reversible  inchned  planes.  We  must  return  to  the 
cheap  and  manageable  means  of  ascent  discovered  by 
Montgolfier,  more  than  seventy  years  ago,  from  the 
hydrogen  gas  of  later  innovation.  The  whole  theory 
and  practice  lies  in  a  nutshell,  and  contains  only  two 
propositions.  Firstly,  by  means  of  a  hot-air  stove,  a 
balloon  can  be  made  to  rise  and  fall  at  will.  Secondly, 
by  means  of  inclined  planes,  it  can  be  made  to  rise  or 
fall  at  any  angle,  according  to  the  law  of  pressure  in 


A   CtJKIOUS   GIEL.  99 

fluids.  Tims  np  and  down  liill,  like  the  Montagues 
JRusses,  must  be  the  coiu-se  of  the  great  California  Air 
Transit  Company's  balloons.  Between  each  ascent  and 
descent,  the  impetus  will  enable  a  considerable  mo- 
tion in  a  direct  line ;  and  the  velocity  of  the  locomo- 
tion altogether,  Avill  render  its  indirectness  of  no 
importance.  The  voyage  to  San  Francisco  will  be 
made  in  two  or  three  days." 

"But  wdiy  is  not  the  system  carried  out?" 

"Tor  want  of  means.  Inventors  have  generally 
little  capital,  and  even  their  time  is  precious." 

"  But  surely  it  would  be  easy  to  find  some  wealthy 
men  to  advance  funds." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Mondel,  smiling  bitterly,  "  I 
fancy,  from  my  own  experience,  that  they  are  rare. 
Besides,  men  of  high  education  and  profound  studies 
do  not  like  to  go  hat  in  hand  to  stupid  merchants,  who 
cannot  even  understand  the  proposition  that  twice  two 
is  lour,  except  wlien  tlie  abstract  number,  two,  is 
reduced  to  the  concrete  two  dollars." 

"  1  should  like  to  fly  !  I  think  it  would  be  delight- 
ful, but  are  you  not  too  enthusiastic,  Mr.  Mondel  ?" 

Mondel's  face  resumed  an  intenser  pallor.  "  I^ot 
in  the  least,"  he  said,  almost  coldly ;  "  but  sometimes 
I  look  forward  into  the  future  till  I  forget  the  present ; 
but  I  forget  to  despise  mankind  to  the  degree  it 
merits." 


100  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

"  I  did  not  mean  by  entliusiastic,  to  say  visionaiy," 
said  Columbia,  quickly,  "  1  believe  all  you  say.  It  is 
in  tlie  ignorance  of  men  alone  that  I  see  obstacles.  I 
love  entliusiasm — I" — 

At  that  moment  Mrs.  Yonkers  came  up,  being 
released  from  anotlier  gentleman's  conversation.  But 
on  that  occasion  she  noticed  nothing  particular  in  the 
manner  of  Columbia  or  Mondel.  It  was  far  otherwise 
on  the  evening  of  the  memorable  exchange  of  looks. 
Ko  sooner  was  Mondel  out  of  the  house  than  Mrs. 
Yonkers  involuntarily  began  to  expose  the  condition 
of  her  own  feelings  by  saying,  with  but  half-concealed 
acerbity,  to  her  step-daughter  :  "Why  Columbia,  I 
declare  I  think  that  you  have  fallen  in  love  with  Mr. 
Mondel!" 

Be  it  noted  that  Mrs.  Yonkers  did  not  suggest  the 
much  more  natural  hypothesis,  viz.,  that  Mondel  had 
fallen  in  love  with  Columbia. 

"l^ot  at  all,  madam,  not  at  all,"  replied  Columbia, 
with  a  careless  haughtiness. 

There  was  an  instinct  of  refinement  in  the  young- 
student,  familiarized  as  she  was,  by  reading,  with  the 
manners  of  the  great  ladies  of  the  old  world,  that 
caused  her  to  revolt  against  anything  resembling  a 
direct  personal  attack,  such  as  Mrs.  Yonkers  too  often 
indulo-ed  in.  Mrs.  Yonkers  was  of  a  sano^uine  tem- 
perament,  and  could  not  understand  that  any  bounds 


A   CURIOUS    GIRL.  101 

were  to  l^e  placed  to  the  intimacy  between  herself 
and  one  socially  so  nearly  connected  witli  her  as  her 
step-daughter.  As  she  had  had  the  good  sense  never 
to  attempt  to  assert  any  sort  of  authority  over  Colum- 
bia, Mrs.  Yonkers  good-naturedly  set  down  sundry 
quiet  repulses  she  received  from  time  to  time,  as  mere 
eccentricities  of  manner  in  her  step-daughter. 

"She  is  a  curious  girl,"  said  Amelia  to  her  old 
friend,  Miss  Ross,  "  so  cold,  so  reserved,  and  yet  so 
cnti^usiastic  about  poetiy  and  music,  and  art,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing.  But,  yon  know,  too  much  litera- 
ture and  criticism  is  a  bore,  and  it  is  impossible  to 
get  Columbia  to  talk:  about  anything  else.  She  is  so 
shy  and  reserved  ;  do  you  Icnow  I  have  never  heard 
her  say  one  word  about  love  or  marriage,  or  anything 
of  the  sort,  and  yet,  in  that  volume  of  tales  she  pub- 
lished two  years  ago — 'The  Wizard's  Book' — you 
know" — 

"  Tes,  I  know  "  said  Miss  Ross,  nodding  with  an 
-  ominous  air. 

"  In  the  '  Wizard's  Book,' "  resumed  Amelia,  "some 
of  the  love-scenes  are  j)assionate  enough,  I  think." 

"  Almost  improper,"  said  Miss  Ross,  in  an  under- 
tone, as  if  afraid  of  the  remark  being  overheard,  or 
perhaps  to  give  a  mysterious  solemnity  to  the  insinua- 
tion. 

Miss  Ross,  by  the  way,  at  the  age  of  fourteen,  had 


102  THE    SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

been  canglit  hy  lier  mamma  with  young  Washington 
Todds,  two  years  her  senior,  under  very  suspicious 
circumstances,  and  three  years  later  had  been  despe- 
rately in  love  with  a  young  lawyer,  who — but  no 
matter;  Miss  Ross  was  excessively  particular  and 
severely  set  against  anything  that  bordered  on  the 
improper.-  Perhaps  she  knew  what  was  improper 
better  than  many  other  young  ladies,  and  was  there- 
fore an  authority  on  the  subject. 

From  this  second  digression,  the  reader  will  have 
gained  a  piece  of  information,  that  Columbia  was  an 
authoress.  "We  must  not  imagine  however,  that  her 
book  was  as  common-place  as  most  young,  and  for 
that  matter,  old  ladies'  books  of  the  present  age.  On 
the  contrary,  it  was  a  production  full  of  imagination 
and  wild  beauty,  far  too  subtly  conceived  to  be  ultra- 
popular,  and  too  artistically  executed  to  be  appre- 
ciated by  every-day  critics.  Although  it  had  not 
yet  reached  its  "fiftieth  thousand,"  it  had  sold  well, 
and  had  been  favorably  spoken  of  by  some  of  the  best 
writers  of  the  day. 

"  Do  you  think  Mr.  Mondel  handsome  ?"  said  Mrs, 
Yonkers,  returning  to  the  charge. 

"  I  really  do  not  know,  he  is  very  gentlemanly  and 
agreeable,"  replied  Columbia. 

"  I  think  he  admires  you,"  said  Mrs.  Yonkers. 

"Do  you,  indeed?"  said  Columbia. 


A  cnEiors  GIRL.  103 

"  Yon  had  better  Le  veiy  careful  with  liim,  Co- 
lumbia." 

"  I  am  always  careful,  madam." 

"  I  am  told  he  is  very  reckless  and  extravagant, 
and  not  worth  a  cent." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it,  for  his  sake." 

"  He  is  not  the  sort  of  man  your  father  would  wish 
you  to  encourage,  I  am  sure." 

"You  think  not?" 

"  I  am  certain  he  is  not." 

"Tlien  why  did  you  invite  him  to  the  house  at  all?" 

"  Because — because,  in  short,  I  merely  thought 
him — a  very  amusing  person." 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you.  Good  night.  I  am  very 
much  fatigued." 

"  Good  night,  Columbia,  think  of  what  I  have  been 
saying." 

"  I  will,"  said  Columbia  quietly. 

"  She  loves    him,    and    he"  Mrs.   Yonkers 

paused. 

At  this  moment  her  husband  entered. 

"  How  late  you  are,  Mr.  Yonkers !" 

"'  Don't  look  so  cross,  my  dear,"  said  the  worthy 
merchant,  who  was  a  little  the  woi-se  for  the  wine  he 
had  taken  with  some  very  particular  friends  at  Dcl- 
monico's,  and  Mr.  Yonkers  gave  his  wife  an  affec- 
tionate kiss,  with  rather  a  maudlin  expression. 


104  THE    SLAVE    OF   TIIE   LAMP. 

"  Ah  !"  slie  exclaimed,  pushing  him  away  with 
disgust,  "  you  have  been  drinking  brandy — don't  come 
near  me !  Let  me  go  to  bed,  I  am  very  unwell  thi& 
evening." 

"  D — d  if  she  ain't  always  unwell,  or  something  !" 
muttered  Mr.  Yonkers,  steadying  himself  by  the  back 
of  the  rocking-chair,  which  gave  a  tilt,  and  nearly 
upset  him.  Mr.  Yonkers  had  begun  to  discover  that 
buying  a  white  slave  was  not  such  a  profitable  invest- 
ment after  all. 

Meanwhile,  Columbia  had  ascended  to  her  room, 
closed  and  locked  the  door,  turned  up  the  gas,  and 
seated  herself  in  a  luxurious  arm-chair  before  a  table 
covered  with  books.  She  took  up  one  of  them — it 
was  Mondel's  "  Logic  of  Life."  She  paused,  with  the 
open  volume  on  her  knee. 

"  I  do  believe,"  murmured  Columbia,  "  that  my 
step-mother  is  jealous.  Is  it  possible  that  she  can 
seriously  love  him? — is  it  possible  ? — rather  is  it  pos- 
sible that  she  should  not  love  him  ?  My  father  is  old 
enough  to  be  her  own.  Can  such  marriages  prosper  ? 
O  Mammon,  Mammon,  what  fiery  scourges  canst  thou 
invent  for  thy  victims !  And  he,  does  he,  can  he  feel 
any  interest  in  her  beyond  ordinary  friendship  ?  But 
no !  how  can  she  understand  a  soul  like  Mondel's. 
To  her  he  is — simply  a  handsome  and  agreeable  man 
— whilst  to  mCy  he  is — ^I  know  not  what — something 


A  CUEIOUS   GIEL.  105 

beyond  all  that  I  had  yet  dreamed  of,  something  that 
I  can  looli,  tq?  to.  Oh,  the  desolation  of  superior 
knowledge,  the  misery  of  the  society  of  fools,  the 
loneliness  of  the  ambitious  spirits  soaring  in  the  cold 
empyrean,  without  sympathy  or  companionship  !" 

Columbia  paused  and  looked  before  her  with  a 
vague  dreaminess — unconsciously  she  imitated  the 
expression  habitual  to  Mondel  in  his  moments  of 
abstraction.  It  is  one  of  the  phenomena  of  love, 
well-known  to  the  observant  student  of  its  manifesta- 
tions. 

Columbia's  face  was  pale.  Ilcr  hair  and  clearly 
pencilled  brows  seemed  dark  by  contrast  with  her 
marble  forehead  and  colorless  cheeks.  Her  blue  eyes 
seemed  to  darken  to  the  hue  of  the  violet.  Kever 
was  seen  beauty  more  noble,  more  spiritual. 

"  Tliey  think  I  am  cold,"  she  murmured ;  "  they 
think  that  because  I  recoil  with  horror  from  the  con- 
tact with  the  gross  and  silly  men  I  see,  that  I  am  inca- 
pable of  love,  of  passion,  of  devoted  idolatry  !  Oh,  the 
ignorance  of  the  vulgar,  who  camiot  see  beyond  the 
wretched  sphere  which  they  iidiabit !" 

The  young  beauty  rose  and  stepped  before  a  mirror, 
in  which  her  whole  form  was  reflected.  She  stood 
there,  tall,  graceful,  delicately  voluptuous  in  the 
rounded  outhncs  of  her  neck,  shoulders  and  bust, 
from  which  she  had  now  removed  the  lace,  that  till 

5* 


106  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

then  bad  sliroudecl  tlieir  whiteness.  She  stood  there 
with  an  innocent,  yet  imjDerial  pride,  and  in  her 
inmost  heart,  a  little  voice  whispered,  "  For  his  sake, 
I  thank  God  that  I  am  beautiful !" 

"When  a  woman  of  genius  is  beavitiful,  it  is  the 
beauty  of  a  celestial  world.  "Woe  to  those  who  can 
understand  the  beauty,  and  on  whom  its  rays  fall 
coldly  !  Better  never  to  have  scaled  the  walls  of 
Paradise,  and  gazed  upon  its  matchless  delights,  than, 
having  seen  it,  to  be  driven  by  the  flaming  sword  of 
the  angel  of  despair  into  eternal  darkness  from  its 
precincts ! 


m  LOVE.  107 


CHAPTER    IX. 


IN   LOVE. 


"I  APPEEHEND  no  clauger  to  liis  life,"  said  Dr." 
Vortex,  a  young  man  of  very  lofty  stature,  with  a  fair 
and  most  engaging  countenance,  which,  like  that  of 
his  friends.  Cope  and  Mondel,  was  dignified  with  a 
well-trimmed  beard. 

"  Will  you  not  stay,  doctor  ?    Here  are  some  excel- 
lent cigars  and  some  real  French  brandy." 

"^NTo,  thank   you,"  said  Yortex,  "I  will  take  a 
cigar,  however,  but  I  am  expected  by  a  patient." 

"  Or  an  imi^atient  ?"  said  Mondel  smiling. 

"  I  hope  80,"  said  the  doctor,  who  was  a  young 
married  man,  and  still  in  love  with  his  wife. 

Enviable  individual ! 

Mondel  and  Cope  stepped  together  into  the  adjoin- 
ing room.  There  lay  fast  asleep  the  grim  professor 
of  pugilism,  looking  very  pale,  with  his  bandaged 
head  and  blue  chin  close  shaven,  after  tlie  custom  of 
his  class. 


108  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

"A  strong  fellow!"  said   Cope,   pointing  to  .the 
muscular  arm,  whicli,  owing  to  the  want  of  a  hutton 
to  the  wristband,    was    lying  half   bared    on    the. 
coverlid. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  a  desperate  ruffian,  according  to 
received  ideas,"  said  Mondel,  as  they  returned  to  the 
sitting-room.  "  However,  you  can  easily  imagine 
that  pure  philanthropy  did  not  decide  me  to  encum- 
ber myself  with  such  a  guest.  Tlie  fact  is,  I  was 
afraid  the  row  would  lead  to  exposure,  and  -get  into 
the  papers ;  and  just  now  I  am  on  very  delicate 
ground,  and  wish  to  avoid  everything  that  is  disre- 
putable." 

"  How  so  ?" 

"  I  have  found  a  treasure — a  real  wonder  of  beauty 
and  intelligence — a  girl  such  as  I  had  hitherto  met 
only  in  dreams." 

"Ha!  you  are  in  love,  then?" 

"  Madly.  To  you,  and  you  only,  I  must  confide  it. 
But  you  shall  see  her,  and  judge  for  yourself." 

"  If  I  see  her,  I  shall  certainly  do  so.  My  eyes  are 
not  yet  crystallized  over,  whilst  you  already  look 
through  prismatic  glasses.  You  should  read  Henry 
Beyle,  alias  Stendahl's,  De  Vamowrr 

"  Pray  do  not  jest — ^the  affair  is  too  serious." 

"  It  usually  is." 

"  There  are  difficulties  of  the  gravest  kind." 


121    LOVE.  109 

"  Il^ot  an  uncommon  accident.  But  what  are  your 
special  obstacles — want  of  money  ?" 

"  Oil,  that  is  the  least  of  tliem,  though,  bad  enough 
in  itself.  Her  father  is  immensely  rich,  whilst  I,  as 
you  know,  have  been  immensely  careless  and  dissi- 
pated. However,  I  can  soon  recover  myself,  under 
the  inspiration  of  such  a  hope.  But  the  fact  is  she 
has  a  step-mother." 

"  A  perverse  old  hag,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Not  at  all ;  a  charming  woman  of  five-and-twenty, 
a  few  years  older  than  Columbia." 

.  "  Columbia — a  pretty  name,  national  or  dove-like, 
as  you  like  to  take  it,"  said  Cope,  intently  studying 
the  rapt  expression  of  Mondel's  anxious  counte- 
nance. 

"  Unfortunately,  I  paid  this  lady  some  little  atten- 
tions— flattered  her  perhaps  a  httle  too  heavily." 

Oh,  no ;  flattery  is  too  broad  or  too  exaggerated  for 
nine  women  out  of  ten,"  said  Cope ;  "  even  if  they  do 
not  quite  believe  that  you  are  in  eai-nest,  the  idea 
that  you  wish  to  please  them  is  already  pleasing. 
There  is  only  one  kind  of  flattery  that  oftends  a 
Voman." 

"  ^Yhat  is  that  ?" 

"  To  flatter  her  out  of  pity,  and  let  her  see  that 
you  do  so.  But  only  boys  under  one  or  two  and 
twenty  pei-petrate  such  enormities." 


110  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 

"  There  is,  I  tliink,  one  other  kind  of  flattery  whicli 
oflfends,"  said  Mondel,  "  and  that  is  to  pay  a  woman 
the  compliment  of  speaking  the  truth  to  her,  on  the- 
supposition  that  she  is  too  sensible  to  be  deluded  by 
flattery !" 

"  It  is  indeed  a  dangerous  experiment,"  said  Cope ; 
"  I  tried  it  once." 

"  So  did  I,"  said  Mondel. 

"And  the  result?" 

"  An  argument  all  on  one  side,  that  lasted  a  whole 
evening.     And  yours  ?" 

"A  hint  that  some  people  did  not  know  that 
their  society  was  troublesome.  Candor  is  a  bore,  and 
I  believe  the  woman  was  right  after  all." 

"  True ;  I  should  like  to  catch  any  one  but.  a  real 
friend  like  yourself,  or  an  angel  like — somebody  else 
— ^troubling  me  with  a  candid  opinion !  But  as  I 
was  saying,  I  made  Mrs.  Yonkers,  the  lady  in  ques- 
tion, believe  that  I  was  smitten.  She  is  a  fine  woman, 
a  beautiful  complexion,  a  large  dark  eye,  a  figure 
such  as  would  make  the  fortune  of  a  '  model  artist ' 
— ^in  a  word,  the  very  embodiment  of  passionate 
temptation.  I  was  dying  of  ennui.  I  looked  all 
sorts  of  things  at  her,  rather  languidly  perhaps ;  but  at 
any  rate  not  without  efiect.  It  was  evident  I  pleased 
her ;  her  husband  is  old  enough  to  be  my  father,  fat 
and  red- faced,  with  grey  whiskers.     She  asked  me  to 


m  LOVE.  Ill 

call.  Of  course  I  called,  and — ^imagiue  my  position  ! 
— she  introduced  me  to  her  step-daughter  Columbia, 
a  perfect  angel  of  light,  and,  as  it  proves,  the  most 
accomplished,  learned,  gentle,  noble,  graceful,  fasci- 
nating woman  in  America !" 

"  By  Jove ! — a  hard  case,"  ejaculated  Cope. 

"  But  that  is  not  all.  "Whenever  madame  can 
speak  to  me  alone,  she  makes  love  to  me  in  the  most 
unmistakable  manner.  She  tells  me,  in  parables,  how 
unhappy  she  is ;  how  she  had  no  idea  what  marriage 
meant  when  she  was  di*agged  into  the  Yonkers  alli- 
ance ;,  how  her  life  is  a  wreck — an  Inferno',  and. 
how  marriage  itself  is  an  institution  on  a  par  with 
the  Spanish  incpiisition.  She  had  read  the  works  of 
Stephen  Pearl  Andrews,  and  others,  on  the  subject, 
and  tells  me,  confidentially,  that  there  is  no  real  mar- 
riage but  that  of  the  soul.  In  this  opinion,  in  the 
abstract,  I  perfectly  agree;  but,  as  you  perceive,  I 
am  in  a  most  painful  position.  It  is  almost  impossible, 
for  my  studiously  polite  efforts,  to  misunderstand  her 
allusions,  and  to  prevent  an  explanation.  She  evidently 
thinks  that  I  am  a  modest  man,  who  only  requires 
encouragement." 

"  Ila,  ha,  ha !"  laughed  Cope,  with  a  most  unso- 
Ijhisticated  merriment.  Well,  I  must  say,  you  are  as 
innocent-looking  a  roue  as  I  ever  encountered,  with 
youi-  mild,  dreamy  look.     Sometimes  I  fancy,  that  if 


112  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP.  ' 

you  sliaved,  you  might  pass  for  a  yontli  of  the  evan- 
gelical persuasion,  and  a  regular  church-goer  !" 

"  I  am  not  a  roue^''  said  Mondel.     "  I  am  a — a— a 
philosopher  /" 

Cope  laughed  yet  more  heartily. 

"Hell  upon  earth!"  resumed  Mondel,  checking 
Cope's  merriment,  by  his  earnestness,  and  pacing  the 
room  in  his  excitement.  "  What  miserable  lives  men 
lead  in  this  present  accursed  social  organization! 
"With  what  difficulties  are  the  noblest  and  mightiest 
of  our  impulses  surrounded !  I  look  back  on  ten 
years  of  manhood,  and  I  see  but  six  months — one- 
twentieth  part  of  the  time — during  which  the  first 
elements  of  happiness  were  mine.  You  know  how 
that  ended — in  what  a  gulf  of  unhappiness  and 
despair  it  plunged  me !  Had  I  at  that  time  possessed 
the  wealth  which  came  too  late  to  save  me ;  but  it 
is  over  now.  I  am  free.  "Whatever  has  been  my 
past,  my  present  is  my  own.  You  know  I  have  but 
one  dream  which  I  cherish — love — ^love — eternal  love 
and  fidelity.  I  have  never  yet  been  unfaithful,  for 
I  have  never  loved  but  once ;  and  then,  you  knew 
my  innocence.  ISTo,  Cope  !  So  much  do  I  abhor  the 
wretched  life  of  a  roving  roue,  that  I  would  give  my 
whole  future  for  a  single  year  of  true  happiness  and 
sympathy." 

"  That  is  of  Columbia  ?"  said  Cope,  mildly. 


IN   I.OVE.  113 

"Yes!  I  confess  slie  is  now  all  to  mc — world, 
future,  and  Lope.  I  cannot  live  without  lier.  She 
must  be  mine.  Are  we  not  made  for  one  another  ? 
Do  we  not  sympathize  in  taste,  in  culture,  in  tempera- 
ment ?  See  here,  I  bought  her  work  to-day — '  The 
"Wizard's  Book.'     Let  me  read  you  a  few  passages." 

7P  "Jf  TT  "3c  *A-  vr 

"Is  it  not  sj)lendid? — equal  to  George  Sand  or 
Bulwer?  What  melody  of  style,  what  loftiness  of 
conception,  what  luxuriance  of  fancy  !" 

"  It  is  very  well  written,  indeed,''  said  Cope,  glanc- 
ing over  the  volume,  which  he  had  taken  from  the 
hands  of  Mondel. 

"Do  you  really  think  so?"  said  Mondel,  eagerly, 

"Really,  on  my  honor,"  replied  Peregrine,  frankly. 

"  Because  love  is  blind,  you  know,"  said  Mondel. 

*'  Yet,  with  all  his  blindness,  the  god  often  sees  what 
no  one  else  can  discern,"  said  Cope,  sarcastically. 

"  What !  are  you  going  ?" 

"  I  am  quite  tired  out.  I  can  scarcely  keep  my 
eyes  open." 

"  Ah,  forgive  me !"  said  Mondel.  "  I  forgot.  You 
are  not  in  love  with  a  Columbia.  Ifow,  I  never  feel 
sleepy  of  late.  I  really  seem  never  to  sleep.  But 
you  arc  still  human." 

"  Good  night,"  said  Cope.  "  I  leave  you  to  your 
divine  afflatus." 


114  THE    SLATE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

The  clock  on  the  mantelpiece  struck  three. 

"  Good  night.  I  will  call  on  you  to-morrow," 
said  Mondel,  as  he  sat  down  to  the  perusal  of  the 
"Wizard's  Book." 

He  little  thought  that  at  that  same  hour  the  blue- 
eyed  Colitmhia  was  yet  watching  over  his  own  philo- 
sophical treatise,  "  The  Logic  of  Life,"  and  mentally 
adoring  its  author,  with  all  the  sublimity  of  virtue, 
which  he  inculcated  in  such  fascinating  periods. 

Thus  love — intelligent,  glorious,  all-devouring  love 
— ^liad  sprung  up  in  two  young  hearts,  amid  all  the  trees 
of  life  and  knowledge  with  which  they  had  planted 
the  Edens  of  their  creative  imaginations.  ISTo  won- 
der that,  when  they  slept,  each  was  present  to  the 
visions  of  the  other. 

M 

Meanwhile,  in  his  lonely  and  mysterious  habitation, 
toiled  one,  whose  love,  if  not  so  pure  as  that  of  our 
two  impassioned  students,  was,  at  least,  as  dominating 
a  law  to  his  existence — Berkeley  the  Alterer. 


nOVvT   TO   MAKE  MONEY.  115 


CHAPTEE  X. 


HOW   TO   ]\L\.KE  MONET. 


Betoni3  Tliirtietli  Street,  and  between  the  Eiglitli 
Avenne  and  the  river,  in  a  neighborhood  far  removed 
from  all  business,  activity,  or  fashionable  circnlation, 
stood  the  isolated  house  of  John  Berkeley.  It  was  a 
substantial  red  brick  building,  and  had  an  iron  rail- 
ing and  small  garden  before  it,  in  the  English  style. 
Berkeley,  on  reaching  this  remote  residence,  after 
parting  from  Mondel  and  his  friends,  opened*the  door 
with  his  latch-key,  and,  at  once,  commenced  the 
ascent  of  the  stairs.  lie  did  not  pause  till  ho  reached 
the  landing  of  the  third  story,  where  a  door,  at  the 
foot  of  the  next  flight  of  stall's,  which  were  narrower 
than  those  below,  barred  further  progress. 

Since  the  carpenter  put  it  up,  no  living  mortal  save 
Berkeley  had  ever  passed  the  threshold  of  that  door, 
nor  would  even  the  most  cunning  locksmith  have 
succeeded  in  picking  the  lock  by  which  it  was  secured. 
To  open  the  door,  when  unlocked,  required  the  know- 
ledge of  a  secret,  which  could  scarcely  have  been 


*  116  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAJIP. 

guessed  "by  one  uninitiated  in  tlie  mystery.  It  was 
necessary  to  lift  tlie  door,  in  order  to  open  it ;  other- 
wise it  remained  secured,  by  a  bar  of  wood  at  tlie 
bottom,  as  firmly  as  ever.  ^. 

"When  Berkeley  bad  passed  tbis  formidable  barrier 
be  carefully  relocked  tbe  door,  tlien  struck  a  light 
from  a  small  box  of  wax-matcbes  be  carried,  and, 
passing  a  second  door,  wbicb  swung  to  by  a  weight, 
entered  a  room  which  an  instant  later  was  illumina- 
ted by  the  vivid  glare  of  a  large  gas-burner,  covered 
by  a  large  paper  shade. 

"What  a  glorious  invention  is  gas !  It  will  seem 
strange  to  Americans,  but  gas  is  very  little  used — 
indeed  scarcely  at  all — in  private  houses  in  Europe. 
The  Londoners,  whilst  freely  burning  it  in  their  shops 
and  warehouses,  have  a  silly  prejudice  against  its  use 
in  their  drawing-rooms,  or  even  in  their  counting- 
houses.  In  the  former  they  darkle  miserably  by  the 
glimmer  of  wax-tapers  or  "  comj^osites,"  which  drop 
on  and  sj^oil  every  piece  of  furniture  ;  in  the  latter, 
unhappy  clerks  still  endure  all  the  horrors  of  tallow, 
and  write  by  the  smell  as  well  as  by  the  light  of 
"  dips,  four  to  the  pound,"  or,  as  they  call  them  in 
the  vernacular,  "muttons."  Now  it  became  clear 
to  me  that  in  a  country  where  tallow  candles  were 
still  burned,  pohtical  progress  was  impossible.  ISTo 
wonder  that  in  the  "great  metropolis"  printers  still 


now   TO   MAIvE   MONiiY.  117 

sweat  away  existence  in  working  wretched  hand- 
presses  that  do  not  even  ink  themselves ;  and  tliat 
iced  creams  and  cool  breezes,  produced  by  steam,  are 
utterly  unknown,  to  the  limited  intellect  of  benighted 
Cockncydom. 

A  singular  workshop  was  that  of  Berkeley.  On 
every  side  of  the  large  apartment,  which  occupied 
nearly  the  whole  story,  were  seen  tables  covered  w^ith 
artists'  and  engravers'  tools,  and  other  materials, 
shelves  laden  with  bottles,  a  press  of  singular  construc- 
tion, a  photographic  camera,  a  microscope,  &c. ;  in  one 
corner,  on  a  small  table,  lay  no  less  than  three  revolv 
ers,  and  a  bowie-knife  of  sword-like  dimensions,  whilst 
beneath  the  table  stood  a  small  barrel  marked  gmv- 
powder.  Near  one  of  the  windows  lay  a  coil  of  rope 
securely  fastejied  to  a  ring  in  the  wall,  as  if  to  facili- 
tate escape  by  the  window,  in  case  of  fire  or  other 
peril.  It  was  evident  that  this  apartment  was  not 
intended  for  the  reception  of  visitors.  A  solitary 
wooden  arm-chair  was  the  only  means  of  repose  it 
oflered.  This,  Berkeley,  who  was  tired  by  his  walk, 
tlu'ew  himself  into,  and  lighting  a  seventeenth  cigar 
since  his  breakfast,  fell  into  a  train  of  meditation 
sufficiently  uncommon  to  be  worth  reporting,  as  tho 
"ghost-raisers"  would  say,  by  "spiritual  telegraph." 

"Art  is  long,  and  life  is  short  y  thought  Berkeley, 
anxiouslv,  "a  man  does  not  become  the  first  forger 


« 


118  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAilP. 

of  his  age  in  a  day.  Let  me  see.  Five  years  ago  I 
began  by  altering  bills,  and,  witli  tlie  aid  of  a  little 
cliemistry,  I  bronglit  it  to  sucb  perfection  tbat  I  won 
the  admiration  of  every  bank  in  the  country.  I 
became  the  alterer  par  excellence^  and  by  Phito  !  I 
deserved  the  title.  Since  then  I  have  done  business 
on  a  large  scale.  By  reference  to  my  book  " — Berke- 
ley here  referred  to  a  ledger — "  I  have  passed  exactly 
two  hundred  and  ninety-five  thousand  seven  hundred 
and  forty-tliree  dollars  of  my  own  manufacture.  Of 
the  proceeds  I  have  invested  some  thirty-five  thou- 
sand dollars  in  town  lots,  which  may  now  be  worth 
nearer  eighty  thousand.  The  balance  I  have  squan- 
dered in  expenses,  and  in  the  process  of  passing. 
Thanks  to  my  caution,  my  disguises,  and  my  resolu- 
tion, no  accomplice  has  yet  had  it  in  his  power  to 
betray  me.  But  I  have  now  dashed  into  the  open 
sea  ;  I  have  taken  '  sink  or  swim '  for  my  motto.  A 
few  months  must  decide  my  fate — Amelia  and  an 
Italian  palace,  or  despair  and  a  grave  of  infamy !" 

"A  melodramatic  finale!"  resumed  the  Alterer 
with  a  grim  smile.  "  And  now  to  work !  I  must 
make  ten  thousand  dollars  before  morning !" 

The  Alterer  had  well  said  that  forgery  was  an  art 
not  to  be  learned  in  a  day.  More  than  four  years 
out  of  the  five  had  been  wasted  by  John  Berkeley, 
in  the  laborious  task  of  altering  bills  (that  is,  changing 


HOW   TO   MAKE  MONEY.  119 

their  denominations  from  one  to  ten,  &c.),  and  in 
engraving  plates,  witli  prodigions  patience,  from 
■wliicli  to  print  connterfeits.  As  eacli  of  these  plates 
required  a  long  time  to  engrave,  it  was  necessary  to 
print  off  large*  numbers  of  the  same  bill,  which  was 
not  only  very  dangerous,  but  eventually  frustrated 
its  own  object. 

Persevering  investigation  and  industry,  however, 
will  overcome  all  obstacles.  A  simple  zincographic 
press  now  enabled  Berkeley,  without  any  trouble,  to 
reproduce,  at  will,  fac-similes  of  any  bills  issued. 

As  the  reader  may  be  interested  in  the  application 
of  this  curious  art  to  other  pui^poses  than  forgery,  I 
will  here  briefly  describe  the  process. 

Any  engraving,  lithograph,  newspajier,  writing  or 
drawing  (in  printer's  or  lithographic  ink),  can  be 
immediately  transferred,  by  pressure,  from  the  paper 
to  a  smooth  sheet  of  zinc,  from  which,  as  from  a 
lithographic  stone,  impressions  can  at  once  be  taken. 
I  have  seen  copies  of  "Punch,"  and  the  "Illustrated 
London  News,"  reproduced  with  absolute  exactness, 
as,  also,  autograph  sketches  and  writings  of  my  own, 
both  by  the  pen  and  crayon."-  All  that  is  necessary, 
therefore,  to  reproduce  any  number  of  bank-bills,  is 

*  Zincography  is,  so  far  as  I  know,  practised  in  New  York  only 
by  Mr.  Ilohneck,  1G3  Hester  street. 


120  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP, 

to  get  new  and  clean  copies  free  from  grease-spots, 
whicli  would  otherwise  cause  spots  in  tlie  impression, 
and  give  mucli  trouble. 

The  plate  of  zinc  which  Berkeley  now  placed  on 
the  press,  contained  impressions  of  no'  less  than  six- 
teen different  bills — the  very  best,  in  point  of  credit, 
in  the  city.  His  paper  being  ready  damped,  and  the 
red  portions  already  printed,  our  scientific  counter- 
feiter deliberately  proceeded  to  ink  the  plate  with  a 
roller,  and  slowly  to  print  off  about  one  hundred 
sheets,  equal  in  nominal  value  to  more  than  ten  thou- 
sand dollars,  of  illegal  money.  The  process  of  cutting 
up  and  se])arating  the  bills  w^as  performed  in  a  few 
minutes  by  another  machine,  and  the  Alter er — whose 
alterations  were  now  radical — held  in  his  hands  as 
nice  a  looking  pile  of  bills  as  ordinary  critics  would 
wish  to  see  in  their  profession.  Another  hour  de- 
voted to  the  process  of  crumpling,  dirtying,  greasing, 
and  tearing  the  bills,  with  the  assistance  of  a  small 
dust-bin  and  a  jar  of  butter,  into  an  appearance  of 
decent  antiquity  and  indistinctness,  and — the  manu- 
facture was  perfect. 

But  do  not  let  the  facility  with  which  ten  thousand 
dollars  in  bank  bills  can  be  forged,  tempt  any  unscru- 
pulous person  to  embark  in  so  ridiculous  a  pursuit  as 
forgery.  Forgery  is  like  murder,  which  De  Quincey 
has  so  ably  treated  as  "  one  of  the  fine  arts ;"  it  leads 


now   TO   MAKE   MONEY,  121 


^ 


to  every  description  of  meanness.  It  is  a  life  of  fear,  • 
anxiety,  and  liideons  degradation.  It  is  perpetual 
unrest.  I  never  knew  a  man  wlio  launched  out  into 
forgery  or  its  kindred  sciences — such  as  frauds  in 
connection  with  railway  scrip,  for  example — who  ever 
seemed  to  enjoy  a  hapj)y  existence,  even  if  spared  by 
the  law.  Hudson,  the  English  "railway  king,"  is 
shunned  like  a  pestilence  by  every  honorable  man. 
True  gentlemen  in  the  House  of  Commons  get  up  and 
move  from  his  neighborhood ;  and,  despite  all  his  ill- 
gotten  wealth,  his  name  is  never  mentioned  without 
contempt.  Schuyler,  of  ISTew  York,  who  issued  the 
false  scrip  to  such  an  enormous  extent,  the  other  day, 
will  henceforward  have  to  skulk  about  obscurely,  and 
associate  with  swindlers  and  thieves.  Most  unenvia- 
ble is  the  life  of  the  imprudent  rascal,  enriched  by. 
unorthodox  roguery.  He  is  spunged  on  by  rogues 
poorer  and  less  daring  than  himself — the  vilest  of  the 
vile.  He  is  liable  to  be  scorned  and  insulted  at 
every  turn,  by  the  disdain  of  those  who,  at  least, 
cheat  their  fellows  according  to  rule.  In  short,  no 
sensible  rascal  sliould  take  a  more  direct  cut  to  rob- 
bery than  bankruptcy,  which,  periodically  arranged, 
answers  well  enough  in  some  lines  of  business. 

A  curious  reminiscence  here  occurs,  to  serve  as 
illustrative  of  the  class  of  speculations  to  wliich 
forgery  pertains  :  it  is  the  case  of  Captain  Mai-bhall, 

.     6 


122  THE   SLAVE   OE   THE   LAMP. 

the  clieck-giver.  This  notorious  character,  who  may 
have,  many  ccliases,  is  a  man  of  middle  height,  mode- 
rately stout,  fifty  years  of  age,  with  a  mild,  good- 
humored  face,  who  occasionally  professes  himself  a 
pious  convert  to  Catholicism,  and  will  discuss,  at 
length,  on  his  pride  in  his  profession — the  nautical — 
and  a  new  invention  for  reefing  topsails  from  below. 

He  goes  about — ^probably  some  of  our  readers  may 
have  heard  of  him — ^living  at  the  best  hotels,  and 
paying  hy  cJieclc.  Now  and  then  he  catches  a  green- 
horn, who  cashes  a  small  draft  on  a  banker  in  the 
next  city,  of  importance.  He  knows  everybody  you 
know,  and  is  very  unobtrusive,  being  especially  dex- 
terous in  making  your  acquaintance,  by  means  ap- 
parently accidental.  Having  already  availed  myself 
of  the  electric  telegraph  and  the  post-oflice — too  late, 
however,  to  save  my  erewhile  host  and  his  bill,  I  re- 
joice at  being  enabled,  by  a  novel  medium,  to  in- 
crease the  celebrity  of  this  remarkable  man.  This 
little  check  on  the  Baiik  of  JJtica,  Buffalo,  I  still 
preserve,  for  the  sake  of  the  autogi-aph.  But  why 
should  I  complain  ?  Do  I  not  owe  to  that  insignifi- 
cant loss  the  gain  of  .one  of  the  most  remarkable 
spectacles  I  ever  witnessed  ? 

It  is  an  unwarrantable  digression;    but,   digres- 
sion or  no  digression,  the  incident  shall  be  related. 

It  was  at  Niagara  Falls.    I  had  stayed  over  Sunday 


HOW  TO   MAKE   MONEY.  123 

at  Buffalo,  in  order  to  present  the  Captain's  clieck  on 
Monday  morning.  All  was  excitement  at  tlie  liotel. 
A  man  was  in  the  rapids  ! 

I  hastened  to  the  bridge  above  the  Falls. 

"  Yon  cannot  pass,  sir." 

"  I  am  the  editor  of  the  • ." 

"Pass  on." 

The  word  editor  is  an  "open  Sesame"  in  America, 
and,  indeed,  in  most  civilized  countries. 

"  Oh,  let  me  pass.  I  must  pass  !"  cried  the  voice 
of  a  female  behind  me.  » 

"  You  really  cannot,  miss,"  said  the  sentinel. 

"But  I  'inust !  "  replied  a  voice  of  anguish. 

"  JSTo  one  is  allowed  on  the  bridge,  but  those  who 
are  assisting  to  let  down  the  boats,"  said  the  sentinel. 
"  You  really  cannot  come.  We  must  keep  the  bridge 
clear." 

Oh,  sir,"  cried  the  girl,  a  fair  and  pretty  creature, 
with  large  hazel  eyes,  seeing  that  I  had  turned  back 
to  look  at  her,  "  get  me  through, — for  God's  sake,  get 
me  through !" 

Struck  by  her  deep .  agitation,  I  said  to  the  man, 
"Let  her  pass,"  and  as  I  pressed  against  the  human 
barrier,  she  slipped  through  and  seized  my  arm.  The 
scene  which  j^resented  itself  from  the  bridge  was  most 
appalling.  Before  us,  at  the  distance  of  perhaj^s  less 
than  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  was  the  crystalline  edge  of 


124:  THE    SLAVE    OF   THE   LAMP. 

tlie  cataract.  On  tlie  right  bank,  between  tlio  fall 
and  the  bricTge,  were  thousands  of  people  staring  in 
imj)btent  horror.  In  the  centre  of  the  rapids,  and 
about  half  way  between  the  bridge  and  the  cataract's 
margin,  was  a  log  jammed  between  two  rocks.  It  is 
still  there.     On  this  log  stood  a  man  erect,  and  dis- 

« 

tinctly  visible.  There  he  had  been  since  the  previous 
night.  It  was  now  five  in  the  afternoon.  He  had 
fallen  asleep  in  his  boat,  the  boat  had  been  carried 
away  by  the  current,  and  had  probably  struck  against 
the  log  on  which  he  had  saved  himself.  The  roar  of 
the  rushing,  foaming  waters  rendered  it  useless  to 
shout  for  assistance.  In  the  morning  he  was  discov- 
ered standing  where  he  now  stood  in  temporary  secu-  ' 
rity,  yet  almost  "beyond  the  possibihty  of  escape. 
Boats  had  been  floated  down  with  ropes  attached  to 
them,  containing  provisions  and  brandy.  They  had 
all  failed  in  their  mission ;  the  overstrained  ropes  had 
given  way,  and  the  boats  had  disappeared  over  the 
fatal  line  of  the  fall.  I^Tothing  remained  to  be  tried 
but  a  strong  raft,  though  every  one  agreed  that  it  was 
at  best  but  a  shadow  of  a  chance.  Such  as  it  was,  I 
urged  its  immediate  employment,  and,  briefly  repre- 
senting the  utter  folly  of  delay,  aided  with  my  own 
hands  to  lower  it  into  the  boiling  torrent.  Alas !  a 
few  minutes  had  not  elapsed  before  one  of  the  ropes, 
by  which   it  was  guided,  was  fairly  torn   from  our 


now   TO   MAKE  aiOKET.  125 

hands,  and  the  raft  drifted  guideless  amid  tlie  eddies. 
I  looked  around  for  my  companion,  wholn  I  had  quit- 
ted to  aid  in  letting  down  the  raft.  She  was  request- 
ing a  gentleman  to  lend  her  a  telescope,  through 
which  he  was  regarding  the  unfortunate  man  in  the 
rapids.  He  handed  it  to  her  with  politeness.  She 
took  one  look,  then  dropped  the  telescope,  and 
exclaimed,  staggering  as  if  shot — "  It  is  he ! — • 
O,  God,  it  is  he !"  -        ■      '  " 

She  would  have  fallen,  had  I  not  caught  her  in  my 
araas.  I,  myself,  looked  thi^ugh  the  telescope,  and 
beheld  the  pale,  anxious,  yet  still  courageous  coim- 
tenance  of  a  young  man  of  two-and-tM^enty,  of  hand- 
some and  pleasing  appearance. 

One  more  attempt  was  made.  AYe  formed  a  second 
raft  of  the  rudest  materials,  obtained  a  fresh  supply 
of  rope,  and  this  time,  by  wonderful  fortune,  succeed- 
ed in  letting  it  float  down  to  the  log.  In  a  few  mi- 
nutes it  was  there.  Tlie  young  man  scrambled  upon 
it,  but  his  strength  was  evidently  exhausted.  It  was 
hoped  that  the  raft  might  be  so  guided  as  to  run 
ashore  on  Goat  Island,  which  unequally  divides  the 
river  above  the  cataract.  I  may  mention,  for  the 
benefit  of  such  of  my  readers  as  have  never  visited 
Niagara,  that  to  draw  back  anythiug  against  the  tor- 
rent of  the  rapids  at  that  point  is  impossible.  But  all 
speculation  on  the  subject  was  soon  at  an  end.    The 


126  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAJSIP. 

man  was  suddenly  swept  from  the  raft,  and  carried 
with  awful  velocity  towards  the  fall.  For  one  instant 
he  managed  to  stand  erect  and  utter  a  wild  shriek,  on 
the  very  edge  of  the  abyss,  then  he  had  vanished  for- 
ever. 

Those  near  at  hand,  affirmed  that  the  word  he 
uttered  was  "  J/ary.'" 

More  audible  was  the  shriek  of  Mary  herself,  as 
witnessing  the  last  agony  of  her  lover,  she  fell  sense- 
at  my  feet. 

As  soon  as  I  had  seen  the  poor  girl  placed  in  the 
care  of  friends,  I  hastened  to  the  foot  of  the  fall,  and, 
heedless  of  the  spray  which  wetted  me  to  the  skin, 
peered  curiously  into  the  infernal  cauldron  of 
waters. 

But  it  is  as  wise  to  ask  of  oblivion  the  fate  of  the 
passing  hom-s,  as  to  ask  of  savage  IsTiagara  the  bodies 
of  his  victims.  Ten  thousand  years  ago,  that  awful 
torrent  fell,  broken  by  the  immense  descent  into 
snow-like  particles,  even  as  it  now  falls — of  all  specta- 
cles which  JSTature  offers,,  the  most  enthralling  and 
the  most  sublime.  Yet,  for  me,  the  solemn  grandeur 
of  the  giant  falls  is  for  ever  painfully  mingled  in 
memory  with  the  hideous  vision  of  the  "man  in 
the  rapids,"  and  the  shriek  of  his  despairing  mis- 
tress. 

Thus,    to  Captain  Marshall's    check  on   a  bank 


now  TO   MAKE   MOJTET.   '  127 

in  wliicli  lie  never  deposited  one  cent,  I  was  indebted 
for  a  remarkable  adventure,  and  the  reader  for  a 
curious  anecdote. 

But,  I  was  saying  that  forgery  and  ultimate  misery 
go  togetlier.  The  fact  is,  all  crime,  save  personal 
violence,  is  fundamentally  falsehood.  The  gi'eater 
the  lie,  the  greater  the  injmy  to  mankind,  and  the 
heavier  mankind's  resentment.  The  petty  shop-keeper 
who  adulterates  his  goods,  who  sells  forged  coffee, 
forged  pepper,  fm^ged  brandy,  &c.,  is  a  more  con- 
temptible, but  less  dangerous  rascal  than  your  Faunt- 
leroy,  your  Hudson,  or  yom*  Schuyler. 

John  Berkeley  was  a  bolder,  but  perhaps,  not 
morally,  a  more  corrupt  man,  than  two  out  of  three 
traders  in  Wall  Street,  or  nine  out  of  ten  polticians  at 
Washington,  He  had  taken  to  a  by-way  for  fleecing 
his  fellows,  instead  of  the  beaten  track,  that  was  all. 
And  quite  enough  for  any  honest  man.  But  who  is 
honest  in  tliis  world  ?  "Who,  but  the  man  who  ivories, 
and  gives  a  fair  equivalent  for  what  he  asks  of  the 
world.  For  the  rest,  it  may  be  an  error  of  judgment, 
but  I  see  little  difference,  in  a  rational  point  of  view, 
between  the  tyrant  who  oppresses,  the  speculator  who 
extorts,  and  the  brigand  who  robs ;  or  between  the 
brokei-3  and  bankers  who,  by  their  nefarious  tricker}', 
raise  stocks  and  shares  to  an  artificial  value,  and  the 
less  particular  counterfeiter,  who   creates  fictitious 


128  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

value  altogetlier.      Mankind  at  large  is  equally  a 
sufferer  hj  either. 

I  do  not  defend  Jolin  Berkeley.  I  admit  that  he-  is 
a  scouindrel.  But  he  plays  his  game  like  the  rest,  and 
chooses  his  risk  with  the  odds  against  him.  In  pro- 
portion to  the  risk  is  the  gain.  Now,  if  John  Berke- 
ley had  counterfeited  opinions,  or  levied  black-mail 
as  a  jom-nalist,  if  he  had  palmed  off  pretended  medici- 
nal panaceas  as  a  quack  doctor,  if  he  had  raised  sham 
ghosts  as  a  spiritual  medium,  or  exhibited  counterfeit 
woolly  horses  as  a  showman,  he  would  have  engaged 
in  a  much  less  hazardous  line  of  business.  But,  as  we 
have  seen,  John  Berkeley  simply  took  to  forging  bank- 
bills  ;  and,  on  the  morning  after  the  night  of  the  fracas 
with  his  myi-midons,  salHed  out  in  search  of  Confi- 
dence Bob  and  the  Slinker,  with  ten  thousand  newly 
created  dollars  in  his  pocket.  As  he  went  out,  he 
was  grinned  at  with  the  most  sincere  affection  by  an 
ugly  old  negress  with  a  big*  head,  and  feet  like  a 
duck.  She  was  his  only  servant;  and,  though  her 
master  rarely  honored  her  by  remembering  the  fact 
of  her  humble  existence,  was  simply  and  devotedly 
attached  to  the  man  who,  for  five  long  years,  had  pro- 
vided her  with  food,  shelter,  and  clothing — require- 
ments to  which  poor  Peggy  had  in  her  early  life  been 
but  too  oft,en  a  stranger.  Perhaps  she  was  the  only 
real  friend  John  Berkeley  possessed  in  the  world. 


STKAl!fGK   TAiK.         •  129 


CHAPTER  XI.        !-     -,; 

STEAJTGE  TALK.  ' 

As  a  new  superstition  is  fostered  by  persecution,  so 
a  young-  love  becomes  6nliancecl  by  obstacles. 

Mondcl  loved  Columbia,  and  Columbia  loved  Mon- 
del.  Day  and  night  the  image  of  each  was  present 
to  the  other.  In  mutual  dcilication,  both  were  intoxi- 
cated with  happiness.  .  ... 

ITever  had  ocean-sprung  Yenus  two  nobler,  two 
more  ecstatic  votaries. 

Eevived  by  the  elixir  of  passion,  Dudley  Mondel 
saw  the  clouds  of  disappointment  and  the  shadows 
of  experience  pass  away  like  vapors  before  the  rising 
sun.  His  imagination  became  purified.  The  grosser 
illusions  of  his  reckless  and  adventurous  youth  dimmed 
into  half-forgotten  nightmares,  feeble  phantoms  of 
unpleasant  waking  dreams.  His  will  became  once 
more  strong  and  imperial.  His  courage  and  his  hope 
once  more  bade  defiance  to  the  world. 

He  was  again  prepared  to  renew,  on  the  highest 
plane  of  existence,  that  gigantic  struggle  which  genius 
for  ever  maintains,  by  her  knightly  champions,  with 

6* 


130  THE   BLAYE   OF   THE  LAMP. 

the  falseliooci  and  ignorance  of  tlie  universal  spiritual 
chaos. 

"How  little,"  said  Mondel,  "is  the  mission  of  the 
man  of  genius  comprehended  by  the  herd  !  "  An 
incarnate  god,  he  stamps  his  law  and  e^gj  upon  the 
brow  of  humanity  for  all  coming  time.  He  reveals  a 
truth,  he  discovers  a  principle,  he  combines  an  idea, 
and  all  eternity  receives  it !  Every  day  he  is  nearer 
his  kingdom.  Even  now  he  laughs  aloud  at  the  fools 
who  sit  on  thrones  or  presidential  chairs,  in  ministerial 
cabinets,  and  boast  that  they  are  governing  the  earth. 

"  Meanwhile,  the  true  kings  of  men,  the  kings  of 
thought,  invent,  foretell,  predestine  things  to.  be, 
securely  seated  in  the  Olympus  of  their  science. 

" '  But  I  use  you,'  cry  the  despot  and  the  worldling. 

"  '  You  obey  me,'  says  the  thinker. 

" '  You  think  for  me — ^you  are  my  slave,'  says  the 
political  ruler, 

"  '  You  act  upon  my  thought.  I  am  your  master,' 
says  the  philosopher. 

"  '  You  work — I  enjoy,'  says  government. 

"  'I  plan — you  execute,'  says  scienee. 

"  In  fine,  government  is  merely  a  focus,  by  means 
of  which  the  rays  of  the  lamp  of  genius  are  to  be 
brought  to  bear  upon  a  nation.  As  soon  as  the  press 
shall  be  sufficiently  develoj)ed,  and  photographic 
printing   perfected,  genius  will   no   longer   require 


STEAiTGE  TALK.  131 

government  as  a  medium,  because  it  will  have  the 
means  of  transmitting  all  its  decrees  straight  to  the 
intelligence  of  every  citizen.  In  those  days,  public 
opinion  will  be  government,  and  every  man  will  re- 
present his  own  opinions,  when  he  has  any  to  repre- 
sent, by  simply  expressing  them  openly." 

"  But  how  is  crime  to  be  suppressed  ?"  said  Colum- 
bia, timidly.        ".  •   .  -         >      ' 

"  In  a  very  advanced  state  of  society,  which  de- 
mands that  the  freedom  of  the  individual  should  be 
perfect,  and  entirely  unshackled  by  external  force, 
there  would  be  no  crime,  save  as  a  rare  exception. 
Law,  existing  only  as  an  idea  in  the  mind  of  every 
citizen,  and  a  philosophical  education  rendering  that 
disease  of  brain,  which  produces  the  anti-rational 
abortion,  called  crime,  extremely  uncommon,  there 
would  be  so  few  occasions  for  society  to  apply  per- 
sonal restraint  to  the  individual  man,  that  each 
emergency  could  readily  find  its  own  tribunal." 

"  Still,  suppose  that  in  the  absence  of  an  executive 
government,  men  were  to  unite  together,  and  form 
bands  of  robbers  ?" 

"  My  dear  Miss  Columbia,"  said  Mondel,  smiling, 
"  you  forget  that  twenty  years  hence  every  one  will 
be  armed  with  an  air-gun,  or  revolver,  loaded  by  a 
turn  of  a  screw,  and  that  poverty,  in  the  sense  of 
actual  privation,  will  have  no  existence;  therefore, 


132  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

the  motive  for  so  liazardous  a  defiance  of  society,  non- 
existent." 

"  Do  you  really  believe  that  want  will  cease  to 
exist  ?"  exclaimed  Columbia,  witb  a  radiant  expres- 
sion of  benevolence  and  goodness,  tliat  made  lier 
look  like  an  angel  about  to  take  wing. 

Mondel,  with  difficulty  repressing  an  insane  desire 
to  defy  propriety  and  Mrs.  Yonkers,  by  clasping  Co- 
lumbia to  his  heart,  and  kissing  her  a  thousand  times, 
replied,  trembling  with  contending  feelings  : 

"  Oh,  yes.  It  must  end  at  last !  In  this  country, 
at  least,  even  the  trading  classes  will  at  length  rise 
above  the  revolting  meanness  and  stupidity  of  foster- 
tering,  instead  of  preventing  crime.  What  is  crime  ? 
Mental  disease,  produced  by  want  of  the  necessaries 
of  life.  These  necessities  are  food,  shelter,  clothing, 
and  love.  The  man  who  is  precluded,  by  poverty, 
from  the  simple  gratification  of  his  appetites,  to  the 
degree  required  by  a  sound  mind,  in  a  sound  body, 
becomes  necessarily  a  degraded  being — a  criminal. 

"  Ages  of  selfishness,  ignorance,  and  poverty,  have 
created  a  standing  army  of  these  outcasts,  perpetually 
recruited  from  the  ranks  of  starving  laborers  of  every 
kind.'  In  America,  emigration  furnishes  ready-made 
hordes  of  vagabonds,  as  a  nucleus  for  the  home  pro- 
duction of  the  same  human  vermin.  In  New  York 
and  Philadelphia,  the  horrors  of  London  and  Paris  are 


6TEANGE  TALK.  133 

beginning  to  reappear,  accompanied  by  tlie  same 
senseless  luxury  and  extravagance,  and  tlie  same 
fiendlike  selfishness  and  indifierence  to  the  welfare  of 
the  community  as  a  whole.  I  have  often  said  it 
before — harsh  as  it  may  sound  to  '  ears  polite,' — the 
rich  people,  who  let  poor  people  sufi'er  actual  want 
in  their  neighborhood,  are  criminal  to  the  last  degree. 
The  wealthy  merchants  of  Kew  York  could  easily 
provide  funds  for  distributing  the  continually-increas- 
ing amount  of  superfluous  labor  accumulating  in  this 
city,  over  the  whole  country,  which  their  work  would 
em-icli  and  cultivate.  "When  people  are  utterly  des- 
titute, a  few  days  reduces  them  to  the  brink  of  starva- 
tion. Gratuitous  locomotion  is  the  greatest  boon 
which  wealth  can  give  to  poverty.  The  English  poor- 
rates,  invested  in  steam  navigation,  would  suffice,  in 
a  couple  of  yeara,  to  remove  every  able-bodied  pauper 
from  the  soil  of  Great  Britain,  and  to  give  every  pau- 
per emigrant  an  outfit  for  the  JSTew  World.  But  Brit- 
ish statesraen,  in  the  decline  of  the  monarchy,  and  on 
the  eve  of  revolution,  can  only  imagine  such  things ; 
and  American  statesmen  have  not  yet  learned  the 
one  great  and  simple  lesson  in  political  economy, 
that  pauperism  is  the  one  thing — the  only  thing — to 
be  dreaded  in  a  Republic." 

''  Your  words  imply  some  result  which  I  do  not 
precisely  see,"  said  Columbia. 


134:  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE  LAMP. 

."  They  imply,"  answered  Mondel,  "  tliat  liberty  and 
pauperism  cannot  long  co-exist.  If  tneanness  and 
grasping  selfislmess  are  not  cliecked  in  America,  by 
loud,  bold,  and  reiterated  warnings,  American  liberty 
will  soon  degenerate  into  oligarchy,  and  thence  into 
despotism.  Already  we  have  a  race  of  pauper  poli- 
ticians and  corrupt  intriguers,  who  pander  basely  to 
the  lowest  rabble — the  Irish  emigrants  and  German 
hucksters.  Were  it  not  that  I  foresee  a  revolution  in 
these  United  States,  before  many  years  are  over, 
which  will  annihilate  the  representative  system  and 
all  its  delusive  jugglery,  I  should  despair  of  America 
ever  becoming  anything  but  an  overgrown  England. 
As  it  is,  we  march  towards  changes  little  dreamed  of 
in  the  philosophy  of  Washington  senators  and  New 
Hampshii'e  generals !" 

"  And  slavery?"  said  Columbia,  "  how  is  slavery  to 
be  abolished  ?" 

'•  It  will  abolish  itself,"  said  Mondel. 

" By  what  means?" 

"  By  the  free  will  of  the  slave-holders." 

"  How  so  ?" 

"  Tliey  are  men,  and  must  progress  in  intelligence 
like  the  rest  of  the  world.  AVhat  the  abuse  of  the 
abolitionists  has  failed  to  do  in  so  many  years,  their 
own  reason  mav  do  in  one.  Xo  such  absurdities  as  a 
fugitive  slave  law  can  exist  long  in  the  !N"orth,  and 


STKANGE   TALK.  .'  '  135 

without  it  where  are  the  slavers  ?  American  slavery 
is  like  the  English  national  debt ;  it  must  walk  the 
plank  before  long,  however  impleasant  may  be  the 
operation  to  the  holder  of  stock  in  either  iniquity." 

"Ah !"  said  Mrs.  Yonkers,  "I  never  can  understand 
your  political  regenerators,  who  wish  to  upset  every- 
thing. I  find  things  veiy  comfortable  as  they  are.  I 
am  sure  I  wish  everybody  to  be  happy,  and  I  never 
go  out  that  I  do  not  give  away  at  least  a  quarter  in 
sixpences  to  poor  little  crossing-sweepers  ;  but  there 
will  always  be  some  poor  people,  I  suppose,  in  the 
world."  ,    .  •  .       ,  -       '- 

"  Yes,"  said  Mondel,  "  there  will  be  probably  poor 
people  even  in  the  next  world — people  who  cannot 
afford  a  comet  to  live  in  during  the  dull  season." 


\  . 


,s 


136  THE   SLAVE  OF  THE   LAMP. 


CHAPTEE  XII. 

MOEE  LOVE. 

MoKDEL  no  longer  even  temporized  witli  the  infatu- 
ation of  Mrs.  Yonkers.  With  a  studied  calmness,  an 
almost  severe  gravity,  he  baffled  all  her  attempts  to 
draw  him  into  a  conversation  of  a  personally  embar- 
rassing nature. 

"  I  feel  very  ill,"  Mrs.  Yonkers  would  say,  when  he 
called,  as  he  did  nearly  every  evening,  to  catch  a  few 
moments'  stolen  conversation  with,  and  a  great  many 
stolen  glances  from  his  now  adored  Columbia. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  it,"  Mondel  would  reply, 
with  polite  yet  sufficiently  cordial  sympathy. 

"  Are  you  Teally  sorry  ?"  Mrs.  Yonkers  would  say, 
with  a  vague  air  of  sentimental  reproach, 

"  I  am  not  a  hypocrite — I  never  knelt  in  a  pulpit," 
Mondel  would  reply,  quite  coolly. 

I  am  sorry  to  say  that  Mondel  could  not  endure  the 
sight  of  a  clergyman,  and  would  rather  have  dined 
with  a  pirate  than  with  a  bishop.  It  was  one  of  his 
weaknesses. 


MOKE   LOVE.  137 

Mondel  was  not  a  cliurcli  uor  chapel-going  man. 
However,  I  do  not  liold  liim  up  as  an  example — I  do 
not  pretend  to  be  a  moralist.  I  describe  life  as  I 
know  and  see  it,  tliat  is  all.  -^^^^       „    .    . 

"  This  is  a  stupid  world,"  again  Mrs.  Tonkers 
would  begin,  shaking  back  her  dark  ringlets  fi-om  her 
white  shoulders,  with  an  air  of  languid  disdain. 

"  Yery,"  acquiesces  Mondel.         . 

'.'  It  is  so  full  .  of  cold,  selfish  people,  that  for  my 
part,  I  almost  doubt  the  existence  of  love  or  affection 
anywhere!"  said  the  lady,  desperately  resolved  to 
despair  of  humanity  witli^ut  reserve. 

"  I  often  doubt  it  myself,"  says  Mondel,  stealing  a 
side  glance  at  the  door  to  see  whether  Columbia  is 
entering.  "  • 

"  You  must  find  it  very  lonely,  Mr.  Mondel,  with 
all  your  deep  poetical  feelings  ?" 

"Poets  are  a  shocking  race  of  impostora,"  replies 
the  poet  to  this  argumentum  ad  hominem. 

"  But  surely  you  have  felt  the  passions  and  senti- 
ments you  describe,  or  poety  is  " 

"  All  himibug,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,"  replies  the 
would-be  cynic. 

"  Then  Famosina  is  " 

"A  myth." 

"Metafusa?" 

« A  joke."  .      . 


138  THE   SLAYE   OF  THE   LAMP, 

« 

"Colorissa?" 

"  An  allegory." 

"Why  clear  me!  Mr.  Monclel,  I  give  you  my 
word,  I  took  them  to  he  all  real  ladies  you  had 
known,  and" 

"  Me,  to  be — a  most  fortunate  man  ?" 

"  Perhaps  a  Tery  wicked  one." 

"  ISTot  at  all.  All  my  heroines  are  mere  spectres 
of  the  halls  of  fancy." 

"  And  Pantasma — Fantasma,  your  last  idealization, 
who  eclipses  all  others,  as  the  sun  echpses  the  planets 
in  brightness,  she  surely  kas  something  real  about 
her?" 

"  JSTo,  she  is  merely  a  type — an  impersonation  ot 
Fancy  itself — the  most  unreal  of  all." 

Mondel  had  denied  his  enchantresses  of  by-gone' 
years,  as  pictured  in  his  passionate  verses,  with  as 
little  remorse  as  a  sculptor  feels  in  smashing  his 
juvenile  Yenuses.  But  when  it  came  to  repudiating 
the  -vitality  of  Fantasma — ^Fantasma,  in  whose  di-eam- 
Kke  beauty  and  prismatic  radiance  he  had  always 
enshrined  the  blonde  Columbia,  his  eternal  queen  and 
goddess,  he  blushed  faintly,  and,  felt  the  twinge  of  a 
St.  Peter-like  pang  in  doing  what  seemed  to  be  very 
much  like  denying  not  his  master,  but  his  mistress. 

But  he  was  resolved  to  keep  carefully  within  the 
limits  of  the  Arabia  Petrsea,  or  Stony  Arabia  of  sen- 


MORE  LOVE.  139 

timent  with   Lis   enamored   friend;    since,   well  lie 
knew  that  one  false  step  might  seriously  interfere 
with  his  projected  trip  to  the  Arabia  Felix  or  happy 
land,  of  which  Columbia  was  the  imperial  hostess. 
Of  wanderings  in  the  Ai-abia  Deserta,  of  parching 
thirst  in  the  sandy  desert  of  doubt,  and  error,  and 
hope  long  deferred,  and  of  pilgrimages  to  the  black 
stone  of  Despair's  Caaba,  Mondel  dreamed  not  at  all. 
Happily  for  mortals,  to-morrow  is  an  eternal  mystery. 
Many  weeks    after  her  first    introduction   to  the 
reader,  Columbia  entered  the  di-awing-room  already 
mentioned,  dressed  for  the  theati*e.     It  was  the  first 
night  of  Mondel's  new  comedy.     Mrs.  Yonkers  and 
Columbia  were  to  accompany  the  author  to  his  pri- 
vate box,  where  Mr.  Yonkei-s  had  promised  to  join 
them.      IS'ot    that    any    one    supposed    he    would 
come.     Mr.  Yonkers  had  of  late  grown  very  undo- 
mesticated.     In  fact,  lie  began  to  feel  himself  more 
at  home  anywhere  than  in  his  own  house,  where  his 
Avife's  intense  coldness  and  politeness  created  for  him 
a  freezing  atmosphere,  in  which  he   found  neither 
enjoyment  nor  excitement.     He  tried  at  fii'st  a  few 
matrimonial  quarrels  with  Amelia,  but  she  so  evi- 
dently did  not  care  a  straw  whether  he  was  displeased 
or  not,  that  he  gave  up  the  attempt  as  hopeless,  and 
took  to  publicly  acting  the  part  of  a  very  happy  hus- 
band, and  patting  liis  wife's  shoulder  in  the  presence 


14:0  THE   SLAVE   OF   TIIE   LAIIP. 

of  friends,  to  make  tliem.  believe  tliat  Mrs.  Yonkers 
and  himself  were  living  on  the  most  affectionate 
terms.  I  know  nothing  more  ridiculons  than  an  old 
fool  who  thinks  he  can  make  the  world  believe  that 
the  young  wife  he  has  bought  with  his  money,  is  in 
love  with  his  elderly  personality.  Stay  ! — I  know  one 
thing  more  ridiculous  ;  it  is  an  old  fool  who  is  jealous 
of  his  slave,  and  thinks  it  possible  to  watch  her.  As 
if  a  girl  of  sixteen  were  not  a  match  for  a  whole  regi- 
ment of  old  fogies,  at  any  time!  With  a  woman  of 
six-and-twenty  there  is  no  game  at  all ;  the  advanta- 
ges are  too  enormously  one-sided.  The  old  slaver  is 
nowhere ! 

Columbia  entered  the  drawing-room.  Mondel  was 
already  there.  Mrs.  Yonkers  was  dressing.  In  her 
ambition  to  outshine  her  rival  in  her  toilette,  she  gave 
the  lover's  an  opportunity  for  a  tete-a-tete,  almost  the 
only  one  they  had  ever  enjoyed.  For  the  first  few 
minutes  they  were  silent.  Mondel  had  so  much  to  say 
that  he  could  say  nothing.  It  was  Columbia  who 
broke  the  silence  first. 

"Are  you  not  very  anxious,  Mr.  Mondel,  to  see 
your  comedy  realized  on  the  stage  ?" 

"  Not  in  the  least ;"  said  Mondel,  "  I  have  not  even 
attended  a  rehearsal." 

"  Is  it  possible  ? — surely  you  cannot  be  indifferent 
to  the  success  of  your  work  ?" 


MORE  LOVE.  141 

"  Indifferent  to  success,  Miss  Columbia  ?  01 1,  no  ;  1 
am  not  indifferent  to  success — perhaps  partly  because 
a  blind  self-confidence  assures  me  that  success  is  cer- 
tain— chiefly,  however,  because  all  minor  successes 
are  at  present  for  me  merged  in  the  'emia  grand  object 
of  my  life."  "".^-*:\., 

"And  that  object?"  said  Columbia,  trembling  and 
changing  color. 

"  That  object,"  saidMondol,  in  a  voice  so  deep,  yet 
clear  and  audible,  that  it  seemed  to  come  from  the 
very  inmost  centre  of  his  being,  "  that  object  is  your- 
self:' 

Columbia  started,  like  a  frightened  fawn ;  the  ear- 
.acst,  concentrated  passion  of  her  lover's  look  alarmed 
her  delicate  and  over-sensitive  nature.  Her  own  wild 
feelings  alarmed  her.  She  appeared  about  to  fly. 
Already  she  had  retreated  some  paces. 

Quick  as  lightning,  yet  without  any  violent  move- 
ment, Mondel  stood  again  before  her,  took  her  hand 
in  his,  and  looking  down,  with  an  expression  of 
almost  sombre  scrutiny,  into  her  magnificent  blue 
eyes,  said,  simply — "  I  love  you." 

"He  loves  me,"  thought  Columbia — "he  loves 
me !  How  strange,  how  wonderful !"  And  yet  the 
confession  did  not  sui-jOTse  her.  She  even  expected 
it. 

There  was  no  reproof  in-  the  look  Columbia  gave, 


142  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 

but  sometliing  so  weird,  so  imusual,  so  spiritual,  tliat 
tlie  naturally  audacious  Mondel  completely  lost  cou- 
rage for  the  moment.  His  impulse  was  to  tlirow  his 
arm  round  lier  slender  waist,  to  seal  tlie  confession 
of  Lis  passional!  her  lips.  But  he  dreaded  to  ojffend 
a  lif^i&^g'  s"o  refined,  so  utterly  unsensuous.  He  could 
"only  look,  with  that  searching,  eternal,  mysterious 
gaze,  peculiar  to  himself,  and  murmur,  in  a  broken 
voice,  "It  is  my  life  I  place  in  your  hands.  I  wait 
my  sentence." 

"  l^ot  now,  not  now,"  said  Columbia,  in  deep 
emotion. 

"  You  do  not  hate  me — I  mean,  I  am  not  abso- 
lutely repulsive  to  you  ?" 

"  'No,  no  !  I  like  you  as  a  friend — I  admire  your 
genius ;  but  I  must  have  time  to  reflect." 

"  I  can  wait,"  said  Mondel,  sadly, 

Columbia  was  seized  with  a  vague  panic.  The  idea 
of  marriage  had  for  her  a  sort  of  fantastic  horror. 
She  loved,  but  feared  to  surrender  her  will  to  another. 
Again,  her  woman's  instinct  had  divined  the  secret 
of  her  step-mother's  unhappy  fancy.  The  fair  poetess 
recoiled  from  a  denoument.  Her  pride  and  modesty 
also  refused  to  allow  that  she  had  been  so  rapidly 
and  easily  conquered. 

It  is  strange  to  contemplate  the  difference  between 
the  mental  condition  of  a  man  and  a  woman,  who 


MOEE   LOVE.  143 

love,  ill  tlic  present  state  of  society.  The  man  lias 
seen,  experienced  all ;  the  -woman  knows  nothing  but 
in  theory.  The  man's  ]3assioiis  are  fully  developed  ; 
the  woman's  often  yet  slumber  in  mysterious  uncon- 
sciousness. The  man  is  all  ardor,  the  woman  one- 
half  misgiving.  Thus,  Mondel  had  lived ;  Columbia 
had  only  dreamed. 

"  Alas  I"  thought  Mondel,  "  how  well  I  know  that 
the  chances  are  millions  to  one  against  my  ever 
meeting  a  second  Columbia,  while  she  probably  pic- 
tures to  herself  a  world  in  which  such  men  as  I  are 
common  as  the  shells  upon  the  sea-shore.  And  what 
am  I,  after  all,  with  all  my  reading,  my  intellectual 
power,  and  my  boundless  daring,  but  a  jaded  man  of 
pleasure,  a  reckless  desperado,  compared  to  this  pure 
and  radiant  flower  of  beauty  ?  How  can  I  hope  to 
exchange  love  upon  equal  terms  with  one  whose  per- 
sonal advantages,  as  a  woman,  are  so  immeasm-ably 
beyond  my  own  as  a  man  ?  Doubtless  I  am  hand- 
some enough  for  Mrs.  Yonkei-s,  for  any  ordinary 
beauty ;  but,  to  such  angelic  loveliness  as  Columbia's, 
how  rude  a  creature  I  must  seem  !"  And  poor  Mon- 
del glanced  ruefully  at  a  glass,  in  which  his  stern,  pale 
featm'es  and  athletic  form  were  miserably  reflected, 
owing  to  the  uncvenness  of  the  mirror's  suriface. 

"Decidedly,"  thought  he;  "I  must  appear  any- 
thing but  attractive  to  the  imagination  of  a  delicate 


144  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 

girl.  Besides,  I  begin  to  look  quite  old,  and  my 
complexion  grows  positively  cadaverous.  In  asking 
lier  to  love  me,  I  perhaps  ask  wkat  is  unreasonable." 
So,  calling  pride  to  liis  aid,  Mondel  shook  off  all  ten- 
derness from  liis  aspect,  and  advanced  to  meet  Mrs. 
Yonkers,  who  then  entered,  with  the  stately  mien  of 
a  conqueror.  Defeated, '  as  he  believed  himself,  he 
resolved  at  least  to  betray  no  external  sign  of  weak- 
ness, and,  with  a  burning  heart,  looked  more  cold  and 
hauo;htv  than  he  had  ever  looked  before.  Columbia, 
witnessing  this  change,  longed  to  say  something  which 
might  soften  the  effect  Of  her  former  expressions,  and 
even  Mrs.  Yonkers  was  amazed  at  the  unusual  indif- 
ference of  her  non-admiring  friend,  not  to  her  own, 
but  to  her  step-daughter's  attractions.  Still  more  was 
Mrs.  Yonkers  amazed  to  observe  that  Mondel  took  no 
interest  in  the  representation  of  his  own  piece,  not- 
withstanding the  unbounded  favor  with  which,  from 
first  scene  to  last,  it  was  received.  At  the  fall  of  the 
curtain,  Columbia  turned  to  Mondel  with  such  a 
bright  look  of  triumph  in  the  applause  which  greeted 
his  work,  that  his  doubts  for  the  moment  were  utterly 
dissipated,  and  pressing  her  hand,  unobserved  by  the 
rest  of  the  party,  with  tears  starting  to  his  eyes,  he 
whispered,  softly,  "  Ma}'"  I  hope  ?" 

And  Columbia's  voice  almost  inaudibly  murmured 
back  like  a  far-off  echo — "  Sojpe. 


MOEE  LOVE.  145 

That  night  Mondel  gave  a  late  supper  to  his 
friends,  and  as  the  champagne  corks  flew,  O'Bouncer 
cried,  "  Why,  Mondel,  mj  dear  fellow,  how  changed 
you  look.  The  success  of  your  play  has  made  you 
five  years  younger !" 

But  Peregi'ine  Cope  made  no  such  blunder.  He 
knew  that  love  alone  had  power  to  work  so  great  an 
alteration  in  his  friend,  and  said  to  himself  as  he  filled 
his  glass,  "  By  Jove,  Columbia  has  accepted  him !" 


146  THE  SLATE  OF  THE  LAMP. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

GKEEN-ETED  NEMESIS. 

Amella.  was  not  a  woman  to  be  scorned  witli  im- 
punity. She  saw  that  Mondel  did  not  love  her,  and 
rehictautly  admitted  that  he  adored  Colmnbia. 

Enraged  as  she  was,  she  could  not  teach  herself  to 
feel  indifferent  towards  the  man  who  had  so  com- 
pletely subjugated  her  imagination.  But  if  she 
could  not  hate  Mondel,  she  could  and  did  hate  the 
idea  of  his  possession  by  Columbia,  and  to  frustrate 
that  union  became  now  the  most  immediate  object 
of  her  excitable  nature. 

Her  feelings  towards  Columbia  were  of  a  very 
strange  and  complex  nature.  As  a  rival  she  hated 
her  step-daughter.  As  a  woman,  Amelia  could  not 
resist  the  wonderful  power  of  fascination  possessed 
by  Columbia. 

This  power  of  fascination  is  the  gift  only  of  few. 
It  is  a  most  rare  and  wonderful  quality,  depending 
for  its  existence  on  the  possession  of  exqiiisitely 
refined  sympathies:     It  betokens  some  moral  supe- 


GREEN-EYED   NEMESIS.  147 

riority  difficult  to  analyze,  yet  of  tremendous  in- 
fluence  on  all  minds  that  come  witliin  its  sphere.  It 
is  generally  one  of  the  prerogatives  of  supreme 
beauty  and  genius.  It  is  accompanied  even  in  the 
vicious  by  an  internal  harmony,  a  grand  self-reliance. 
It  is  in  itself  a  main  element  of  gi*eatness. 

Columbia  fascinated  every  one  with  whom  she 
came  in  contact,  under  circumstances  of  intimacy. 
In  spite  of  herself,  Mrs.  Yonkers  was  nervously 
anxious  to  have  the  good  opinion  and  affection  of  her 
step-daughter.  Secretly,  she  felt  the  immense  gulf 
between  her  o^vn  superficial  brilliance  and  Colum- 
bia's dazzling  acquu'craents.  Nevertheless  she  had 
conceived,  since  the  visits  of  Mondel  had  com- 
menced, a  gradually  increasing  dislike  for  her 
former  idol.  The  thouglit  of  such  happiness  as  she 
felt  would  be  the  portion  of  Mondel  and  Columbia, 
if  united,  was  more  than  she  could  bear.  Devoured 
by  passion,  jealousy  and  mortification,  she  said 
fiercely  to  herself,  "  Tliat  marriage  shall  never  be  ! — 
never  whilst  I  am  alive  to  oppose  it  by  means  fair  or 
— otherwise  !"  And  the  jealous  woman  took  a  half 
timid  glance  into  the  most  evil  depths  of  her  own 
nature,  and  beheld  there  shadowy  possibilities  which, 
if  distinctly  revealed,  even  to  herself,  at  that  time, 
would  lijlve  terrified  her  bv  their  hideousnos?. 

*j 

The  descent  of  Avcnius  is  facile,  but  it  is  gradual 


148  THE   SLAVE  OF  THE   LAMP. 

at  least  with  tlie  ordinary  run  of  mortals.  It  is  only 
great  evil  geniuses  who  plunge  abruptly  into  the 
murky  gloom  of  the  nether  world  of  thought,  like 
suicides  who  dash  into  death,  and  by  a  moment's 
awful  resolution  cut  through  the  entanglements  of  a 
life-time. 

But  to  effect  her  object  Amelia  required  an-ac- 
complice.  l*[or  was  she  long  in  finding  one  both  able 
and  willing  to  assist  her. 

This  dangerous  ally  was  John  Berkeley. 

Berkeley  had  before  her  marriage  with  Mr. 
Yonkers  been  the  most  ardent  of  her  admirers.  But 
a  certain  mystery  which  hung  about  his  pecuniary 
position  at  that  time  rendered  him  uninteresting  in  a 
speculative  point  of  view,  whilst  the  hard  polish  and 
caustic  dryness  of  his  manners  and  conversation  re- 
pelled the  naturally  passionate  and  romantic  Amelia. 

Berkeley,  however,  loved  her  with  an  insane  fana- 
ticism. Had  he  received  the  slightest  encourage- 
ment he  would  have  declared  himself,  and  perhaps 
have  sm-prised  and  conquered  Amelia  by  the  vio- 
lence and  sincerity  of  his  passion.  Apart  from  its 
reserved  air  and  habitual  severity  of  expression, 
Berkeley's  face  was  handsome  and  striking.  His 
features  were  sharply  cut,  but  regular  and  well-pro- 
portioned. His  figure  was  well-knit  and  even  grace- 
ful in  its  outlines.     His  manners  were  dignified  and 


GKEEN-KYED  NEMESIS.  149 

easy.  In  age  lie  was  little  more  tlian  Mondel's 
equal.  His  connections  were  liiglily  respectable 
Kew  Englanclers.  He  was  to  all  outward  appear- 
ances a  most  unobjectionable  matcb  for  a  young  lady 
in  Miss  Luton's  tlien  position. 

By  becoming  suddenly  Mrs.  Tonkers,  Amelia 
almost  drove  Berkeley  to  distraction.  Tlie  only 
consolation  lie  had  was  in  reflecting  that  she  'had 
perhaps  escaped  the  horrors  of  a  discovery  of  his 
crimes  and  the  consequent  exposure  and  retribution. 
Until  some  time  after  Mondel's  first  introduction  to 
Mrs.  Yonkers,  Berkeley  neither. visited  nor  met  her. 
At  length,  driven  by  fatality  and  a  yet  unconquered 
Jove,  he  called  upon  the  object  of  his  fonner  atten- 
tions. He  saw  Mr.  Yonkers,  and  conceived  a  vague 
hope  of  yet  realizing  the  wishes  of  his  heart.  Mrs. 
Yonkers  flirted  with  him  immercifully.  By  the 
torments  which  she  inflicted  on  Berkeley,  she  indem- 
nified herself  for  the  sufferings  caused  by  Mondel's 
indifference  to  her  own  attachment. 

As  Berkeley  generally  called  in  the  morning, 
whilst  Mondel  paid  his  visits  in  the  evening,  they  did 
not  at  all  clash  or  interfere  with  one  another.  But 
after  the  meeting  of  Berkeley  and  Mondel,  as  des- 
cribed, at  the  Waverley  saloon,  onthe  evening  of  the 
scufilc,  a  new  feature  presented  itself,  Berkeley 
called  on  Mondel  and  extracted  from  him  not  only  a 


150  THE   SLATE   OF  THE  LAIIP. 

confession  of  his  views  with  regard  to  Cohimbia,  but 
a  vague  alhision  to  the  difficulty  of  his  position. 
This  Mondel  allowed  to  escape  him  the  more  readily 
that  he  had  no  suspicion  of  any  serious  interest  being 
taken  by  Berkeley  in  Mrs.  Tonkers. 

"K  he  has  a  fancy  for  her,  a  little  jealousy  will 
make  him  more  attentive  and  relieve  me  from  a 
great  deal  of  trouble ;"  thought  Mondel  with  a  cul- 
pable recklessness. 

Berkeley,  however,  became  savagely  jealous,  and 
this  jealousy  added  to  the  danger  of  his  secret  falling 
into  the  hands  of  Mondel,  through  indiscretion  on  the 
part  of  the  sick  Professor,  caused  the  unscrupulous 
fabricator  of  bank-bills  to  become  the  deadly  enemy 
of  the  unsuspecting  poet,  who  neither  dreamed  of 
his  vagabond  protege's  relation  to  Berkeley  nor  of 
Berkeley's  old  acquaintance  with  and  passion  for 
Amelia. 

Thus,  when  Mi's.  Yonkers  confidentially  assured 
her  suspicious  admirer  of  her  utter  detestation  of 
Mondel,  and  of  her  wish  to  prevent  him  from 
obtaining  the  hand  of  Columbia  at  all  hazards,  "  for 
the  dear  girl's  sake,"  Berkeley  was  perfectly  pre- 
pared to  stand  by  her  in  any  emergency. 

"  Indeed  I  suspect,"  said  Mrs.  Tonkers,  taking  a 
bold  stride  in  the  Avernian  descent,  "  that  he  is  an 
odious  libertine,  for  whilst  paying  his  attentions  to 


GREEN-EYJeD   NEMESIS.  151 

Miss  Yonkers,  you  will  hardly  believe  it,  he  takes 
every  oj)portuiiity  of  showing  me  by  his  manner  that 
in  fact  he  is — that  is,  that  he  should  be  only  too 
happy  to  become — well,  in  short,  he  makes  love  to 
me  ag  far  as  he  dares  without  coming  to  any  actual 
demonstrations,  whenever  Columbia  happens  to  be 
out  of  the  way  !" 

"  A  charming  specimen  of  transatlantic  morality," 
said  the  Alterer  sarcastically.  He  is  an  Englishman, 
or  at  any  rate  was  educated  in  Europe.  I  know  him 
well.     He  introduced  me  to  his  wife  at  Niagara." 

"  Tlien  he  is  married  ?" 

"Who  knows?"  said  Berkeley,  shrugging  his 
shoulders. 

"  And  separated  from  his  wife  ?" 

"  Probably." 

"  Divorced,  do  you  think  ?" 

"  I  know  nothing  more  than  I  tell  you." 

"It  is  enough,"  thought  Mrs.  Yonkers,  with  a 
diabolical  sensation  of  triumph.  "  I  have  the  mine 
prepared." 

Its  explosion  was  not  long  delayed. 

Columbia  entered  the  room.  A  conversation  on 
general  topics  followed.  Berkeley  was,  as  usual, 
fluent,  courtly,  and  sarcastic. 

"  By  the  way,  Mr.  Berkeley,  what  a  charming  man 
is  Mr.  Mondcl !     Ho  is  quite  a  ftivorite  of  mine. 


152  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 

What  a  pity  tliat  lie  sliould  not  live  happily  with  his 
wife  !  I  did  not  even  know  he  was  married  till  yon 
told  me." 

'  Berkeley  saw  the  snare ;  hut  his  hatred  for  Mon- 
del,  increased  by  his  now  settled  conviction  of  Mrs. 
Yonkers'  love  for  that  detested  individual,  deter- 
mined him  to  run  all  risks.  Berkeley  was  personally 
brave,  though  usually  cautious.  He  answered, 
quietly — 

"I  did  not  know  it  myself  till  he  introduced  me  to 
the  lady,  last  fall,  at  ISTiagara.  She  is  very  pretty, 
and  seemed  quite  devoted  to  her  husband.  Miss 
Columbia !  excuse  me.  Y^  look  very  pale.  Are 
you  unwell  ?"  » 

"  Not  at  all,  sir,"  said  Columbia,  rising  and  leav- 
ing the  room,  with  a  look  at  Mrs.  Yonkers,  which 
absolutely  terrified  her  for  the  consequences  of  her 
stratagem. 

It  was  a  look  of  cold,  piercing  despair.  Her  face 
had  become  so  pale  that  she  resembled  a  ghost,  as 
she  glided  away.  Mrs.  Yonkers  did  not  dare  to  fol- 
low her 

Columbia  had  no  suspicion  of  deception.  She  had 
heard  Mondel  mention  Berkeley  casually  as  one  of 
his  friends ;  neither  was  she  aware  that  Mrs.  Yon- 
kers had  any  power  of  control  over  Berkeley.  She 
took  for  gi-anted  the  fact ;  ajid  it  was  easy  for  Mrs. 


GREEN-EYED   NEMESIS.  153 

Yonkers  afterwards-  to  fill  up  tlie  details,  and,  by- 
affected  expressions  of  pity  and  horror,  to  convince 
Columbia,  that  tbe  man  slie  loved  was  a  roue,  of  tlie 
most  unmitigated  class. 

Columbia  was  deeply  read  in  books,  but  very-  in- 
nocent in  all^bat  concerned  tlie  passions.  She  did 
not  know,  what  every  true  man  knows,  that  your 
professed  saints  are  either  the  most  contemptible  of 
hypocrites,  or  the  most  miserable  specimens  of  hu- 
manity. 

But  how  long  is  this  infernal  mystification  to  last  ? 
How  long  are  we  of  the  harder  sex  to  deceive  and 
mock  the  gentler  half  of  creation,  with  such  palpable 
delusions,  as  the  pretence  that  man  can  live  in  deadly 
opposition  to  nature.  To  man,  the  indulgence  of  the 
passion  of  love  is  an  inevitable  necessity.  Society 
has  made  it  an  inevitable  crime. 

How  long  will  this  atrocious  infamy  last,  of, selling 
young  beauty  to  old  men,  and  di-iving  yopthful  man- 
hood into  the  ai'ms  of  unhappy  courtesans  ?  How  long 
will  mothera  continue  to  conceal  from  their  daughters 
the  great  truths  of  life,  and  fathei-s  persevere  in  re- 
fusing to  give  their  sons  the  results  of  their  own 
dismal  experience. 

Love  is  the  master  passion  of  the  world,  the  clixu- 
of  happiness,  the  talisman  of  power.  To  how  many 
has  it  become  a  scourge  and  a  cm-so !    How  constantly 

7* 


154:  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 

do  we  Bee  tlie  noble  and  the  beautiful  driven  apart 
like  ships  at  sea  in  a  storm,  by  the  errors,  the  pre- 
judice, and  the  cant  of  social  impostnre! 

Tims,  because  Mondel  had  been  in  his  past  life  a 
Wian^  and  not  an  imbecile  trifler,  he  was  condemned 
as  depraved  and  criminal.  Colmnbia*  believing  him 
married  regarded  his  love  as  an  insult.  By  a  single 
lie,  malignantly  rej^eated,  was  marred  the  happiness 
of  two  of  the  most  accomplished  persons  of  their 
age. 

"  Amelia,"  said  John  Berkeley  abruptly,  as  soon  as 
Columbia  had  left  the  room,  "  this  is  a  serious  busi- 
ness, did  you  notice .  the  girl's  face  ?  She  turned  as 
white  as.a  corpse.  We  have,  I  fear,  inflicted  a  severer 
blow  than  you  intended. 

■  "  We  V  exclaimed  Amelia,  resenting  that  unusual 
familiarity  of  her  companion.  "  We  ?  What  do  you 
mean?  Did  not  you  tell  me  that  Mr.  Mondel  was 
married  ?" 

'  "Yes;  but  you  know  very  well  that  1  did  not 
mean  it  seriously,  and  that  I  only  said  it  to  please 
you." 

"  To  please  me  ?  Why  should  it  please  me  ?  what 
does  it  matter  to  me  ?"  said  the  unreasonable  beauty, 
pouting,  and  looking — in  Berkeley's  eyes — doubly 
seductive. 

"  Li  that  case,"  said  Berkeley,  "  perhaps  I  had 


GKEEN-EYED    NEMESIS.  155 

better  remedy  the  mistake — especially  as  in  makiug 
it,  I  deliberately  risked  my  life." 

"How  risked  yom*  life?"  said  Mrs.  Yonkers,  with 
some  show  of  interest. 

"Do  you  think  Mondel  is  the  man  to  leave  so 
gross  an  injury  unrevenged?  'No  madam,  if  he  dis- 
cover the  deception  he  will  either  kill  me  or  I  shall 
kill  him ;  rely  upon  that  as  certain." 

"  But  he  never  can  discover  it." 

"  That  remains  to  be  seen.  Sooner  or  later  many 
things  are  discovered ;"  muttered  Berkeley  gloomily. 
"  However,  the  thing  is  done,  let  us  leave  the  rest  to 
fate.  As  for  you,  Amelia,  you  see  that  when  you  ask 
even  a  crime  as  a  proof  of  my  devotion,  I  cannot 
refuse  you !" 

"  O,  Mr.  Berkeley  !" 

"  One  kiss  before  we  part." 

"  Leave  me,  sir,  I  insist." 

"  My  dear  girl,  consider  how  long,  how  ardently  1 
Iiave  loved  you." 

"  There ! — now  go,  I  hear  Mr.  Yonkers  opening  the 
door  with  his:  latch-key.     Go" 

"  To-morrow  ?" 

"  To-morrow." 

"  Good  by,  dearest !" 

"  Good  by." 

And  Berkeley  departed  in    a  state  of  delicious 


166  THE   SLAVE   01?  THE   LMIP. 

• 

vertigo.  Tlie  knell  of  Monclel's  happiness  was  the 
signal  for  his  own  to  commence.  He  had  gained  that 
first  step  which  connts  for  so  much.  Experience  told 
him  that  the  rest  must  inevitably  follow.  But  bold 
as  he  was,  under  all  ordinaiy  circumstances,  he  could 
not,  on  calmer  reflection,  recall  without  a  rather 
unpleasant  sensation,  the,  fact  that  he  had  done  a 
deadly  injury  to  a  man  who  under  adequate  provoca- 
tion' Was  capable  of  going  to  the  most  desperate 
extremities. 

Henceforward,  not  only  his  liberty  but  his  life 
hung  by  a  thread,  and  the  terrible  arm  of  the  law 
was  not  more  certainly  suspended  over  his  head  than 
was  the  deadly  pistol  of  Mondel  hypothetically  pointed 
at  his  heart.  By  his  head  he  had  sinned  against  man- 
kind, by  his  heart  he  had  wronged  Mondel.  By  a 
single  phrase  he  had  doubled  the  perils  of  his  destiny. 
And  the  Professor — what  if  the  Professor  should 
betray  him?  Truly,  John  Berkeley's  was  not  an 
•enviable  predicament. 


THE   SICK   MiUr.  157 


CHAPTEE  XIY. 

THE    SICK    TVIAK. 

Slowly  and  painfully  the  wonnded  vagabond 
recovered  from  the  effects  of  Cope's  well  directed 
blow.  Berkeley"  called  daily  to  inquire  as  to  bis  pro- 
gress. Dr.  Vortex  attended  bim  witb  the  greatest 
assiduity,  and  as  bis  attentions  were  gi-atuitous,  be 
deserved  more  credit  for  the  regularity  of  bis  visits. 
Cope  and  Mondel  nursed  tbe  patient,  assisted  by  tbo 
latter's  landlady,  Mrs.  ISTormer.  Mrs.  Normer  was  a 
stout,  fine  looking,  dark-eyed  widow,  a  German  by 
bu-tb,  wbose  father  bad  been  a  colonel  in  the  Prussian 
army.  She  was  one  of  those  true,  noble,  generous 
natures  which  are  so  rarely  met  witb,  and  which  seem 
created  for  the  express  purpose  of  consoling  the  suf- 
fering and  aiding  the  unfortunate.  Married  young, 
unfortunate  in  her  marriage,  and  disappointed  in  her 
affections,  she  yet  bad  faced  advereity  with  a  lofty 
and  steady  courage,  and  maintained  herself  and  her 
little  daughter  in  respectability  and  comfort.  All 
who  knew  her  esteemed  and  admired  lier.     Every 


158  THE   SLA\Ti;   OF  THE   LAMP. 

one  who  lodged  in  lier  liouse  became  lier  personal 
friend.  She  had  Hved  long  in  the  Sonth,  and  in  her 
youth — she  married,  at  sixteen,  a  dissipated  Yirginian 
— had  imbibed  prejudices  which  rendered  her  utterly 
impervious  to  all  argument  against  the  great  institu- 
tion of  negro  slavery.  In  her  eyes  there  was  nothing 
meaner  under  the  sun  than  an  abolitionist.  She  could 
not  realize  the  idea  that  people  of  color  ^were  to  be 
put  upon  an  equality  with  whites.  Nevertheless,  no 
"  darkey"  in  distress  could  have  applied  with  a  better 
chance  of  assistance  than  to  Madame  I^ormer — qj',  as 
her  boarders  habitually  addressed  her,  "Madame." 
Her  house  was  generally  occupied  by  gentlemen  only, 
chiefly  officers  in  the  army.  Southerners,  literati^  or 
foreigners  of  distinction.  Mrs.  I^ormer  possessed,  in 
addition  to  great  experience  and  the  keenest  observa- 
tion, a  profound  intuition  of  character.  She  had 
brought  from  the  Old  World,  and  kept  up  in  her 
Southern  life,  a  strong  aristocratic  predilection  in 
favor  of  good  birth,  manners  and  education,  notwith- 
standing that  she  was,  in  many  respects,  most  demo- 
croXically  democratic.  In  her  bearing  she  was  free 
in  her  language,  often  l-eckless  of  conventional  forms. 
But  the  delicacy  of  her  feelings  at  heart  rendered  her 
incapable  of  wounding  the  senslbihty  of  a  fellow 
creature.  She  was  fond  of  animals,  and  had  a  splen- 
did greyhound,  a  parrot,  and  divers  cages  of  canaries, 


•  * 


I 

TUB   SICK   MxVN.  169 

all  wliich  sliG  tended  with  the  greatest  care  and  kind- 
ness. Between  Mondel  and  Mrs.  K ormer  subsisted  a 
friendship  founded  on  mutual  esteem  and  respect.  In 
all  worldly  matters  she  was  Mondel's  confidante^  and 
Mondel  hers.  They  understood  one  another  perfectly, 
for  neither  was  capable  of  meanness.  In  conclusion, 
Mrs.  IS'ormer  gave  the  poet  unlimited  credit,  knowing 
well  that  he  Hways  took  the  earliest  opportunity  of 
paying  up  arrears.  This  the  irregularity  of  his 
receipts  almost  necessitated.  Having  premised  thus 
much,  the  reader  will  understand  that  nothing  which 
Mondel  might  take  it  into  his  head  to  do  was  likely  to 
meet  with  opposition  on  the  part  of  Mi-s.  former. 
Tims,  when  Mondel  brought  home  the  wounded  Pro- 
fessor to  his  apai'tments,  he  simply  commimicated  the 
fact  to  his  benevolent  landlady,  and  she  at  once  dis- 
missed all  thought  upon  the  subject,  until  the  sick 
man  should  be  restored  to  a  state  of  convalescence 
The  desire  to  save  a  man's  life  was,  in  her  eyes,  quite 
cnougli  to  explain  Mondel's  conduct,  and  the  unlucky 
burglar  found  himself  in  most  desirable  c[uartei*s. 

When,  after  a  loiig  interval  of  fever  and  mental 
confusion,  the  Professor  awoke  to  a  clear  conscious- 
ness of  his  position,  he  beheld  a  grave,  benevolent 
face  gazing  calmly  upon  him  from  the  foot  of  the  bed, 
to  which  gradually  added  itself,  as  his  perceptions 
became  clearer,  the  whole  form  of  Dudley  Mondel, 


160  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

with  a  dim  vision  of  a  lady  slicing  up  a  water-melon 
at  a  small  table,  in  the  background.  This  lady  was 
Mrs-  Kormei'. 

The  water-melon  was  a  huge  specimen,  as  big  as 
the  giant  Garagantua's  head,  or  the  famous  roc's  egg, 
mentioned  by  Sinbad,  the  sailor.  The  Professor's 
eyes  brightened  as  he  perceived  coming  towards  him 
the  no  longer  visionary  lady,  with  a  large  pliate  of 
melon,  free  from  rind  or  seeds,  and  ready  for  imme- 
diate consumption.  The  poor  vagabond,  who  had 
eaten  scarcely  anything  since  his  illness,  attacked  the 
succulent  vegetable  instinctively,  and  felt  wonderfully 
revived. 

"Thank  you,  ma'am — thank  you,  sir,"  he  mur- 
mured, faiatly.  So  weak  was  the  once  Herculean- 
man,  that  a  child  might  have  beaten  him  without 
fear  of  resistance.  Nevertheless,  he  felt  a  strange 
sensation  of  well-being.  The  cleanliness  and  comfort 
of  everything  around  him,  a  certain  elegance  in  the 
arrangement  of  the  furniture,  above  all,  the  gentle 
expression  of  the  faces  of  Mondel  and  Mrs.  ISTormer, 
all  showed  him  that  he  had  been  transplanted  into 
the  atmosphere  of  a  world  entirely  different  from 
that  in  which  he  had  of  late  been  accustomed  to 
dwell. 

Dim  recollections — dim  as  to  distance,  yet  vivid  as 
to  imagery — of  his  early  childhood,  of  his  father's 


THE   SICK   MAN.  161 

house,  of  his  old  school-room,  l3efore  he  ran  a^vay 
and  went  to  sea,  as  he  did  at  the  age  of  thirteen,  and 
became,  by  one  accident  and  another,  from  reckless 
audacity  and  wild  companionship,  first  a  smuggler, 
then  a  robber.  All  passed  swiftly  before  his  mind. 
Even  his  little  playmate,  Alice,  came  dancing,  with 
her  blue  sash  Tind  her  yellow  hoop,  and  golden  hair, 
before  his  retrospective  imagination.  Old,  long-forgot- 
ten impulses — long-crushed  boyish  sentiments,  which 
never  yet  had  found  then*  expansion,  upheaved  within 
his  soul,  and  beams  of  sincere,  deep-felt  gratitude 
shone  in  his  dark  greenish  eyes,  as  they  rested,  ad- 
miringly, on  the  noble  countenance  of  Mondel. 

Tliat  countenance,  with  its  lofty  air  of  command, 
and  broad,  white,  massive  brow,  its  soft,  unwavering 
eyes,  and  regular  features,  its  brown  silky  hair,  and 
fair,  pale,  spiritual  complexion — that  countenance 
swam  before  the  eyes  of  the  sick  outcast,  like  the 
phantasm  of  some  divine  messenger  from  another 
world,  calling  him  back  to  vii-tue  and  humanity. 

In  ti'uth,  Columbia's  love  had  illuminated  Men- 
del's features  with  a  serene  radiance  of  happy  con- 
fidence and  hope,  that  made  him  quite  another  being 
in  appearance,  from  the  stern  and  haughty  personage 
with  whom  the  world  at  large  was  more  familiar. 

Kor  did  the  tall  statm-e  and  athletic  proportions  of 
his  benefactor,  by  any  means,  diminish  the  Professor's 


162  THE   SLAVE   OF   TIIE   LAMP. 

feelings  of  admiration.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life 
the  pugilistic  bandit  felt  a  real  sentiment  of  respect 
and  awe,  very  different  from  the  indefinite  feelings 
with  which  John  Berkeley,  the  Alterer,  had  inspired 
him. 

By  a  sudden  inexplicable  movement  of  his  soul, 
the  Professor  resolved  to  devote  his  future  life,  if 
spared,  to  the  service  of  Mondel,  who,  seating 
himself  by  the  bedside,  kindly  took  the  right  hand  of 
the  invalid  in  his  own.  The  Professor  squeezed  it 
feebly.  By  that  squeeze  he  meant  to  imply — 
"  Yours,  till  death.  I  am  your  slave ;  you  are  my 
master." 

"How  do  you  feel,  my  friend  ?"  said  Mondel. 

"  Better,"  said  the  Professor — "  better,  sir — oh  ! 
much  better !" 

He  spoke,  in  fact,  more  of  the  state  of  his  soul  than 
of  his  body. 

"Does  it  fatigue  you  to  speak?" 

"1^0,  sir." 

"  Then  let  me  ask,  since  you  have  been  so  long  in- 
sensible to  outward  events,  whether  you  have  any 
family  or  friends  with  whom  you  wish  to  communi- 
cate ?" 

"Ah!"  cried  the  wounded  man,  with  a  sharp  cry, 
starting  up,  but  only  incipiently,  for  he  was  too  weak 
actually  to  raise  his  head  from  the  pillow — "  ah !  I 


THE  SICK  Miir.  163 

Lad  forgotten  tliem — tlio   cliildren — tlie  poor    cliil- 
dren !" 

"  What !     Yon  have  cliildren  ?" 

"'No,  sir.  They  are  not  mine.  They  are  the 
children  of  a- friend — a  brave  fellow,  as  ever  fonght 

nnder  the  black .    I  mean,  sir,  he  was  shot  at 

my  side,  in  a  sea-fight,  and  his  last  words  were — 
'  Dick,  take  care  of  the  children.'     So  I  did." 

"  And  where  are  they  now  ?" 

"With  Sally." 

"Who  is  Sally?" 

"  A  woman  I  lived  with — not  that  I  really  cared 
for  her,  but  she  never  would  leave  me,  becanse  she 
did  not  know  what  else  to  do,  I  suj^pose,"  and  the 
Professor  heaved  an  ominous  sigh  at  the  recollection 
of  the  very  limited  felicity  of  this  imsanctioned  mar- 
riage of  his. 

"  Has  she  the  means  to  support  them  ?  You  are 
not  perhaps  aware  that  you  have  been  more  than  a 
month  confined  ^o  this  room  ?" 

"  More  than  a  month  !"  exclaimed  the  Professor, 
"  ah,  yes,  I  have  had  lots  of  dreams  too,  it  seems 
only  the  other  day  or  else  an  age.  I  don't  know — • 
my  head  is  weak." 

"  Where  do  the  children  live  ?" 

"  Sally  Smith — ask  for  Sally  Smith  corner  of 
Grand  and  Putnam." 


164  THE   S^AVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 

"  Good,"  said  Monde! ,  "  now  do  not  try  to  talk  any 
more,  I  will  go  and  see  about  tlie  children  at  once." 
, "  God  bless  yon,  sir !"  said  tlie  vagabond,  himself 
mucli  astonislied  to  hear  such  a  phrase  escape  his 
lips,  and  the  exhausted  Professor  lapsed  once  more 
into  the  oblivion  of  slumber. 

Mondel  went  straight  to  the  address  indicated ; 
but  Sally  Smith  and  the  children  had  left  their 
lodging  weeks  before,  and  as  their  rent  had  remained 
by  some  accident  unsettled,  Miss  Smith  had  not 
deemed  it  necessary  to  leave  her  next  address  behind 
her.  After  many  vain  inquiries  Mondel  returned 
with  the  conviction  that  until  the  Professor  was 
himself  able  to  head  the  search,  all  chance  of  finding 
them  would  be  hopeless.  There  are  so  many  vaga- 
bond children  and  such  an  immense  number  of  Miss 
Smiths  in  'New  York  ! 


CHAOS.    .  165 


CHAPTEE    XV. 

CHAOS. 

"There  are  two  letters  for  yon,  Mr.  Mondel,"  said 
Mrs.  IlTormer,  as  Dudley  returned  from  liis  unsuc- 
cessful expedition  in  search  of  the  children  of  the 
deceased  pirate,  and  the  young  lady  whose  "  name 
was  Legion." 

Dudley  took  the  letters,  and  an  electric  current 
ran  up  his  arm,  as  he  recogTiized  in  the  direction  of 
the  smaller  envelope  of  the  two,,  the  handwriting  of 
Columbia. 

The  moment  he  was  alone  in  his  study,  ho  broke 
the  seal  of  the  note,  carelessly  throwing  the  other 
letter  on  the  table.  .     * 

As  he  read,  his  eyes  grew  fixed  and  glazed,  his 
hands  trembled,  his  face  lost  even  the  faintest  trace 
of  color. 

lie  read  it  again,  and  a  third  time,  and  still 
remained  motionless  and  wliite  as  a  marble  statue  of 
Horror. 

The  letter  contained  these  words : — 


166  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

"  Miss  Columbia  Yonkers  presents  her  compliments  to  Mr.  Mondel, 
and  begs  him  to  understand  that  this  note  must  positively  terminate 
their  acquaintance." 

For  several  Iioiirs  Mondel  remained  plunged  in  a 
state  of  gloomy  abstraction.  He  reviewed  tlie  past, 
interview  by  interview.  He  recalled  every  particular 
of  Columbia's  manner,  her  shyness  and  reserve,  her 
fits  of  dreamy  silence,  and  manifold  eccentricities. 
•  "She  never  loved  me!"  he  at  length  muttered, 
"  possibly  she  tried  to  do  so — and  failed,  my  conver- 
sation jDerhaps  interested  her,  but  my  personality  was 
indifferent.  Yet  she  told  me  to  hope !  But  no,  that 
was  a  momentary  imj)ulse,  the  result  of  my  comedy's 
triumph,  or,  perhaps — perhaps  her  words  bore  another 
meaning — she  seems  to  live  but  in  the  ideal  world  of 
intellect  and  poetry — perhaps  she  meant  that  I  might 
hope  as  a  poet  and  a  dramatist  ?  Yet,  I  have  fancied, 
that  in  her  looks  I  read — ^l^ut  how  could  I  read  her 
looks — I,  stained  with  all  the  sensuahsm  and  selfish- 
ness of  the  world,  she,  so  pure,  so  spiritual?  The 
dream  is  at  an  end  !-^— at  our  last  meeting,  I  perceived 
a  strange  coldiless  in  her  manner — ^her  eyes  avoided 
mine — ^I  thought  she  withdi-ew  her  hand  hastily  at 
parting.  Well,  well,  such  happiness  was  too  glorious 
to  be  real.  Tliere  is  no  necessity  for  my  living  and 
suffering  in  this  mean,  dastardly  world  of  hypocrites 
and  traders !     I  can  die — die  as  I  have  lived,  a  free 


cuAos.  •  167 

man,  the  lord  of  my  own  destiny ;"  and  Mondel 
having  laid  his  pistols  upon  the  table,  paced  slowly 
up  and  down  the  apartment  with  an  air  of  utterly 
desperate  depression. 

The  reader  will,  perhaps,  he  amazed,  that  a  man 
like  Mondel,  should  accept  Columbia's  note  as  final, 
without  even  suspecting  a  secret  cause  for  her 
conduct,  or  endeavoring  to  effect  a  change  in  her 
resolution. 

But  true  love  is  a  beautiful  insanity.  Mondel's 
love  demanded  absolute  reciprocity  or  nothing.  In 
the  excess  of  his  pride,  and  the  violence  of  his  passion, 
he  was  unreasonable  and  extravagant.  Thus,  at 
the  first  shock  given  by  Columbia's  insulting  note, 
his  mind  naturally  fixed  upon  the  worst  and  most 
hopeless  view  of  the  case.  He  did  not,  in  his  first 
moments  of  agony,  contemplate  an  external  agency, 
because  all  his  fears  naturally  pointed  towards  an 
internal  and  purely  passional  cause. 

"  Love,"  argued  the  poet-philosopher,  "  can  never 
be  forced.  Love  is  a  wild  flower,  not  a  garden  plant. 
If  Columbia  at  any  time  loved  ^ne,  no  outward  cir- 
cumstances could  destroy  that  love,  and  therefore  she 
must  love  me  still.  If  she  never  loved  me — as  I  cannot 
but  believe — no  pei*severance  on  my  part  would  have 
sm-raounted  a  radical  discord  of  nature.  Tliere  is  no 
such  thing  as  winning  a  woman.     There  is  no  medium 


168  •       THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

between  love  and  indifference ;  and  to  try  to  reason 
indifference  into  admiration,  or  tempt  it  into  desire, 
is  the  labor  of  a  fool.  Eitber  love  is  a  pre-existent 
bannony  between  two  spiritual  types,  of  wbicb  tbe 
bodily  organizations  are  tbe  absolute  representatives, 
or  it  is  notbing.  If  love  be  a  pre-existent  barmony, 
tben  is  love  at  first  sigbt  tbe  only  real  love  I  can 
acknowledge!  Alas!  into  wbat  an  error  did  my 
wild  longing  for  ideal  bliss  lead  me,  wben  in  tbe  first 
eager  glances  of  Columbia's  curiosity  at  tbe  sigbt  of 
a  stranger  and  a  supposed  man  of  genius,  I  read  tbat 
answer  to  my  own  mad  prayers  to  Destiny,  wbicb 
must  now  for  ever  remain  without  response  from 
humanity !  Fool,  fool,  vain  fool  tbat  I  was !"  And 
in  an  agony  of  self-abasement,  tbe  strong  man  threw 
himself  upon  a  sofa,  and  wept  long  and  bitterly  over 
the  last  withered  blossom  of  his  wild  and  passionate 
youth. 

At  length  be  arose.  His  pale  face  seemed  to  have 
grown  thinner,  his  eyes  deeper  and  darker,  his  whole 
aspect  more  sombre  and  ghost-like. 

"  What  if  I  turn  monk  ?"  said  he,  and  a  slight  shud- 
der pervaded  his  whole  frame,  as  he  whispered  the 
awful  words. 

Awful  indeed  was  the  meaning  which  Mondel 
attached  to  those  words.  To  him  they  meant,  what 
if  I  become  a  living  corpse,  a  disembodied  spirit,  a 


CHAOS.  169 

spectre  of  my  former  self?  Wliat  if  I  abrogate  for 
ever  the  hopes  and  passions  of  life  ?  What  if  I  die  in 
the  flesh,  and,  abjuring  manhood,  walk  the  earth  an 
abstraction,  a  type,  a  phantom  ?  Then,  in  a  spirit  of 
horrible  mockery,  Mondel  abjured  the  religion  of  his 
life,  the  worship  of  Yenus,  the  adoration  of  beauty, 
and  the  search  for  the  incarnation  of  the  ideal  woman 
for  ever !  He  registered  his  vow,  and  became  a  monk 
of  the  order  of  desolation — the  order  being  as  yet 
comprised  in  himself.  A  strange,  dreamy  listlessness 
stole  over  him.  K  I  might  venture  on  a  much 
abused  class  of  illustration,  I  would  say  that  from 
being  surcharged  with  positive  vitaUty,  he  had  become 
a  perfect  battery  of  the  negative  fluid.  In  this  state 
he  sat  down  and  wi'ote  the  following  reply  to  Colum- 
bia's note : 

"  Farewell  for  ever.    Yours,  and  yours  alone, 

"MOXDEL." 

Then  he  continued  to  pace  the  room  with  the  same 
4i'eamy  spectral  manner,  supremely  indifferent  to  all 
things  eai-thly  or  unearthly,  till  the  shades  of  night 
descended,  and  he  still  paced  up  and  down  in  the 
gathering  darkness. 


8 


170  THE   SEATE  OF  THE  LAMP. 


CHAPTER  XYI. 

THE  JUDAS-KISS. 

"A  LADY  wishes  to  see  you,  sir,"  said  tlie  DGxyviiil. 

"  Show  her  in,"  said  Mondel,  with  a  sudden  bound 
of  the  heart,  that  strangely  belied  his  newly  adopted*  . 
monkdom.     A  wild  hope  rushed  through  his  brain. 

Entered — Mrs.  Yonkers.  With  instantaneous  reac- 
tion, Mondel  was  the  same  spectral  statue  of  despair, 
which  we  have  seen  automatically  j)acing  his  study  in 
the  darkness.     Mechanically  he  lit  a  lamp. 

"  Be  seated,  madam,"  he  said,  and  waited  for  her 
to  speak. 

"  My  presence  here,  at  this  hour,  no  doubt  sur- 
prises you,"  Mrs.  Yonkers  began. 

"  ISTotliing  surprises  me,"  said  Mondel,  gloomily. 

His  voice  had  a  curious,  monotonous  cadence, 
which  struck  Mrs.  Yonkers  as  peculiar. 

"  I  have  called  upon  you  because — because  I  wish 
your  happiness,"  she  resumed. 

"Thank  you,  madam," -said  Mondel.  The  four 
syllables  were'  like  four  hail-stones  falling,  one  after 
another,  on  a  flat  stone. 


IHE   JUDAS-EISS.  -        171 

"  You  -were  interested  in  Miss  Columbia  Yonkcrs." 

"Well,  madam?"  said  Mondel,  liis  ejes  alone 
assuming  a  yet  more  disdainful  expression. 

"  You  loved  her,  adored  her,  were  devoted  to  her !" 
said  Mrs.  Yonkers,  with  a  pleasant  quietude,  yet 
with  a  secret  fury. 

"  "Wellj  madam  ?"  said  Mondel,  sternly. 

She  has  wi-itten  you  a  most  insulting  note  ?"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Yonkers,  looking  down  to  avoid  Mon~ 
del's  penetrating  gaze. 

"  'No,  madam." 

"  Yes,  I  know  she  has  ;  and  believe  me,  Mr.  Mon- 
del,"— here  Amelia  seemed  much  affected, — "  believe 
me,  I  cannot  bear  that  you  should  labor  under  a 
delusion  which  may  influence  the  happiness  of  -  your 
Hfe." 

"  Well,  madam  ?" 

"You  think  Columbia  once  loved  you?" 

"  Indeed,  madam  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  think  so  ;  I  thought  so  too.  Mr. 
Mondel,  I  felt  an  interest  in  you.  I  admii-ed — nay, 
why  should  I  disguise  the  truth — I  loved  you  too  well 
not  to  wish  you  happy." 

Mondel  was  still  silent  and  unmoved.  He  allowed 
the  image  of  Mi-s.  Yonkera  to  float  before  his  eyes, 
her  voice  to  strike  upon  the  tympana  of  his  eai-s: 
that  was  all. 


172  THE   SLATE   OF  THE  LAMP. 

"  My  dear  friend,  you  were  a  victim  to  a  delusion, 
as  was  I  myself." 

Mondel  gave  no  sign. 

"  She  never  loved  you.  I  do  not  think  she  ever 
loved  anybody." 

"Never!"  said  Mondel,  still  coldly,  but  assuredly 
less  icily  than  before—"  never  ?" 

"ifever,"  replied  Mrs.  Yonkers,  not  perceiving 
that  cold  as  was  the  tone  of  this  query,  it  was  the 
first  sign  of  interest  which,  as  yet,  she  had  succeeded 
in  eliciting.  "When  I  spoke  to  her  of  marrying 
you,  she  expressed  the  most  violent  repugnance; 
indeed,  she  expressed  her  detestation  of  marriage, 
and  of  love  in  any  form." 

"  Strange,"  said  Mondel. 

"  Yery,"  said  Mrs.  Yonkers.  "  Had  you  treated 
her  as  a  friend  only,  you  might  have  still  been 
received  by  her.  But  the  moment  you  assumed  the 
character  of  a  lover,  you  became  a  source  of  painful 
aversion." 

Mondel  bowed,  with  the  same  unchanged  face  and 
listless  manner. 

"  Mr.  Mondel,  I  am  sorry  for  you.  I  can  under- 
stand your  feelings.  It  almost  broke  my  heart  to 
see  you  lavishing  your  love  upon  a  cold,  ungrateful 

girl,  when .     Oh,  Mr.  Mondel !      Such  a  soul  as 

yom'S  was  never  made  for  solitude.      Let   us    be 


THE   JUDAS-KISS.  173 

friends."  Tlie  iinliappy  Amelia  liere  took  Mondel's 
hand  in  her  own.  It  was  like  the  hand  of  a  corpse. 
"  Let  ns  be — as  we  were  before  you  saw  this  proud, 
selfish,  unsympathizing  woman." 

"  Do  not  speak  of  her,"  said  Mondel. 

"  1^0.  "We  will  not  speak  of  her,"  said  Amelia, 
gazing  up,  imploringly,  at  the  dreamy  eyes  of  the 
self-made  monk.     "  Let  us  speak  of  other  things." 

Mondel  was  silent. 

"Is  there  anything  that  I  can  do  to  make  you 
happy  ?"  said  Mrs.  Tonkers,  softly. 

"  Yes.  Go  home,"  was  MondeFs  uncompromising 
answer. 

Mrs.  Tonkers  started  with  an  offended  air  at  this 

■.» 

outrageous  excess  of  disdainful  indifference,  on  the 
part  of  a  man  to  whom  she  was,  harsh  as  the  tenn 
may  sound,  engaged  in  making  love,  and  that  in  the 
most  desperate  manner. 

"I  mean,"  said  Mondel,  "that  your  reputation 
may  suffer.    I  fear  " 

"Zfear  nothing,  with  you,"  replied  Mi-s.  Tonkers. 

Mondel  frowned  darkly.  He  rose,  took  liis  hat, 
and  said  to  Amelia,  in  a  tone  of  cruel  coldness —     • 

"  Come,  madam,  allow  me  the  honor  of  escorting 
you  home." 

Mrs.  Tonkere  shivered  with  anger  and  disappoint- 
ment.    She  took  Mondel's  arm,  which  he  did  not 


174  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 

offer.  Slie  felt  the  necessity  of  a  yet  sm^er  revenge. 
A  woman  whose  love  is -despised  and  rejected,  be- 
comes a  tigress. 

In  the  extremity  of  his  despair,  Mondel  became 
eatanic.  The  fate  of  such  a  woman  as  Mrs.  Yonkers 
was  to  him  of  no  possible  interest.  What  she  called 
love,  he  did  not  deign  to  recognize.  He  no  longer 
feared  her.  He  only  wished  to  be  rid  of  her  annoy- 
ance. In  dead  silence,  he  accompanied  her  to  her 
house. 

Columbia  was  standing  at  an  open  window. 

Amelia  saw  her,  though  Mondel  did  not.  Mrs. 
Yonkers  knew  the  habits  of  her  step-daughter.  A 
gas-lamp  fell  full  upon  herself  and  Mondel.  She 
paused,  suddenly,  and  throwing  her  arms  round 
Mondel's  neck,  kissed  him  passionately.  Then  leav- 
ing him,  utterly  confounded  and  amazed  by  her  con- 
duct, ran  up  the  steps  which  led  to  the  door,  and 
rang  the  bell  violently. 

Mondel  strode  away  in  a  tempest  of  rage. 

"Infernal  woman!"  he  exclaimed — "a  thousand 
curses  on  her  absurd  passion !  "What  if  Columbia 
had  seen  us  ?  But  that  is  not  likely.  The  darkness 
of  the' night,  the  hour,  the  suddenness  of  the  act.  IsTo. 
It  is  not  likely  that  we  were  seen.  But  the  woman 
is  mad!    And,  after  all,  what  matters  now  V 

Mondel  forgot,  for  an  instant,  that  he  was  a  monk 


THE  JUDAS-KISS.  175 

— that  he  had  etemallj  resigned  all  hope  of  Colum- 
bia's love.  For  many  hours  he  paced  the  streets 
that  night,  and  many  and  strange  were  the  wild 
speculations  he  indulged  in. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Yonkers  entered  the  room  from 
which  Columbia  had  witnessed  her  parting  with 
Mondel.     Her  first  words  were — 

"For  heaven's  sake,  do  not  betray  me  to  your 
father,  I  ant  innocent — I  am,  indeed.  I  have  just 
parted  with  Mr.  Mondel  for  ever.  I  saw  you  at  the 
window,  Columbia,  but  I  call  God  to  witness  that 
you  beheld  the  first  and  last  kiss  ever  exchanged 
between  us.  Kow  you  know  all — you  know  the 
secret  of  his  attentions  to  yourself,  of  all  his  myste- 
rious conduct.  Pity  me  !  I  am  indeed  guilty — if  to 
love  be  guilt  alone.  But,  indeed,  indeed,  Columbia, 
I  am  not  criminal,  towards  Mr.  Yonkers  !" 

And  Amelia  burst  into  tears — real  tears  of  fury, 
disappointment,  and  baffled  passion. 

"/shall  not  betray  you,  madam,"  said  Columbia 
loftily,  as  she  swept  from  the  room  with  the  dignity 
of  an  imperial  queen. 

"  And  so,"  she  said  when  she  reached  her  own 
room,  "  the  world  is  vile  enough  for  such  revolting 


*»"        iV^^  ^^Ky^^        ^^,^iLW».j_, 


crimes.  lie  loved  my  stepmother  after  all,  and  yet 
he  dared — the  wretch,  the  insolent,  the  mean-souled 
traitor !" 


176  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 

And  Columbia  paced  the  room,  her  hair  flying  in 
wild  disorder,  her  eyes  flashing,  her  virgin  bosom 
heaving  wildly,  like  the  surge  of  ocean,  a  very  picture 
of  divine  ITemesis. 

"  Dudley  Mondel,  I  despise  yon,"  she  fiercely  wrote 
with  trembling  fingers,  on  the  fly  leaf  of  her  lover's 
great  philosophical  work. 

Then  the  poor  betrayed,  unhappy  girl,  pressed  her 
hands  to  her  throbbidg  temples,  and  exclaimed 
bitterly,  "  O  God,  O  God !  what  is  all  the  genius  and 
wealth  of  this  world  when  love  is  for  ever  absent !" 

And  as  she  vainly  tried  to  sob  herself  to  sleep,  the 
blonde  poetess  murmured  distractedly  :  "  And  yet  I 
love  him  still — 1  love  him  still !" 


LIFE   AND   DEATK.  177 


CHAPTEK  XYII. 

LIFE   AND  DEATH. 

When  Moiidel  returned  liome,  long  after  midniglit, 
lie  saw  the  second  yet  unopened  letter  on  his  table. 
Without  feeling  the  slightest  interest  in  its  contents, 
he  opened  it  and  read : 

"  Dear  Sm  : — You  can  have  the  ship,  and  the  funds  are  ready. 

"  Robert  Lax. 
"  P.  S.— Call  to-moiTOw  at  ten." 

Mondel  read  this  laconic  note  with  imperturbable 
indiflerence.  What  but  the  day  before  would  have 
elated  him  beyond  measui'e,  was  now  a  matter  of  no 
import. 

Robert  Lax  was  a  man  of  immense  capital,  a  great 
part  of  which  was  invested  in  ocean  steamboats.  The 
ship  and  funds  he  spoke  of  were  destined  to  the  car- 
rying out  of  a  new  motive  power  discovered  by  Mon- 
del, in  whose  eyes  the  offer  amounted  to  a  certain 
fortune.  ■  But  what  is  the  ambition  of  the  inventor  or 
the  desire  for  fortime,  compared  to  the  all-absorbing 
interest  of  a  great  passion..    Columbia  lost,  all  Mon- 

8* 


178  THE  SI  AVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

del's  daring  scliemes  became,  in  his  eyes,  stale,  flat 
and  unprofitable.  An  intellectual  languor  bad  seized 
on  bis  soul,  accompanied  by  a  bodily  restlessness. 
What  cared  be  for  progress  or  science,  for  fame  or 
fortune  ?  His  life,  witbin  a  few  bours,  bad  become  a 
pm-gatory.  The  long  weariness  of  a  life  of  adventure 
and  contest  returned  upon  bim  witb  full  force,  and  be 
asked  bimself,  as  in  many  a  dark  bour  be  bad  asked 
before,  "Wby  live  to  suffer?  Wby  suffer  to 
live  ?"  ' 

"Witb  a  moody  air  be  once  more  laid  bis  pistols 
upontbe  table — two  long  duelling  pistols  wbicb  be  bad 
reserved  for  some  sucb  desperate  emergency.  Tbey 
were  already  loaded. 

"  An  instant's  resolution,"  tbougbt  be,  "  and  all  my 
pains  are  at  an  end,  and  tbis  strange,  sensitive,  unbap- 
py  organization,  wbicb  men  call  Dudley  Mondel,  is  a 
tbing  of  tbe  past,  a  tbeme  for  newspaper  paragraphs, 
a  study  for  tbe  dissecting  room  on  tbe  one  band,  and 
tbe  post  mortem  critics  on  tbe  otber." 

Mondel  paced  slowly  up  and  down,  eyeing  tbe  pis- 
tols as  be  passed  witb  a  certain  gloomy  satisfaction. 
Tbere  is  an  absolute  certainty  about  death  that  is  fas- 
cinating to  the  philosophic  mind. 

It  involves  no  worldly  after-thought.  Its  results 
being  utterly  unknown,  must  be  left  to  take  care  of 
themselves.     It  is  a  solution  of  all  difficulties— it  is  a 


lAFE  AND  DEATH.  179 

complete  measure,  and  cannot  be  improved  on.  To 
die  is  to  die,  and  dead  men  need  to  answer  no 
questions. 

Still  two  tliouglits  occupy  tLe  minds  of  most  intend- 
ing suicides.  One  is  the  vain  idea  of  what  people 
will  think  and  say  of  them  afterwards.  The  other, 
what  will  become  of  themselves  in  that  new  world 
which  lies  behind  the  black  curtain  of  shadows  which, 
by  men,  is  called  Death. 

Mondel  took  out  of  a  drawer  a  small  pile  of  manu- 
script. 

"  Here,"  thought  he,  "  are  my  memoirs.  What 
a  pity  that  I  have  left  off  precisely  at  the  most  inte- 
resting point !  Suppose  I  add  a  few  pages,  and  send 
them  to  Columbia." 

This  led  to  a  long,  di-eamy  reverie  on  the  beauty, 
the  grace,  the  ineffable  charms  of  his  lost  idol. 

Finally,  though  he  would  have  repudiated  the 
suspicion,  had  any  mocking  demon  whispered  it  in 
his  ear,  a  vague  shadowy  sense  of  hope  began  to  arise 
in  his  soul,  and  struggle  quietly  but  vigorously  for 
ascendancy  with  the  still  dominating  thought  of  self- 
destructipn. 

"What  if  Columbia  loved  him'  after  all  ?  "What  if 
she  did  not  yet  understand  him  ?  Or  had  misunder- 
stood something  he  had  said?  "What  if  Mrs.  Yonkers' 
jealousy  had  caused  her  to  utter  reports  to  liis  prcju- 


/ 


180     '  '         THE   SLAVE   OF   THE  -LAMP. 

dice  ?     What  if  ho  were  to  write  to  Columbia  and 
demand — ^no,  entreat — an  explanation  ? 

But  no,  these  were,  idle  fancies.  There  was  her 
letter  distinctly  repudiating  his  acquaintance,  casting 
him  off  with  scorn  and  indifference.  No  woman 
who  had  ever  felt  a  spai'k  of  love  warm  her  heart 
would  write  so  cold  and  insulting  an  edict.  His 
pride  rebelled,  too,  against  the  thought  of  bending 
perhaps  only  to  the  lash  of  contempt.  He  threw 
down  the  pen  which  he  had  taken  up  and  approached 
the  table  on  which  the  pistols  were  lying. 

"  I  have  never  truly  enjoyed  life,"  said  Mondel  to 
himself;  "  the  satisfaction  of  my  highest  cravings  has 
ever  escaped  me.  Who  shall  say  that  the  discovery 
of  the  nullity  of  earthly  Mfe  and  its  i^leasm-es  is  not 
in  itself  a  step  to  a  superior  intellectual  state  ?  And 
yet,  O  Columbia,  adored  Columbia !  what  a  paradise 
miffht  earth  have  been  to  me  if  thou  "^Mondel  did 
not  complete  the  sentence  in  his  mind,  which  dis- 
solved in  a  vast  agonizing  attempt  to  grasp  the  idea 
of.  the  immensity  of  the  happiness  which  he  had  lost. 
In  this  overwhelming,  thought  all  minor  considera- 
tions disappeared;  all  ideas  of  writing  letters  or 
leaving  a  written  explanation  of  his  conduct,  a  pro- 
fession of  faith  or  a  formal  farewell  to  his  friends,  was 
banished  as  trivial  fancies  unworthy  of  a  man 
earnestly  bent    upon    embarking  for  an  unknown 


LIFE   AM)  DEATH.  181 

world  Witli  a  steady  hand  Mondel  pointed  one 
of  tlie  pistols  at  his  heart.  Strange  fancy  !  he  had 
the  vanity  to  wish  to  leave  his  face  intact,  in  case 
—absurd  supposition ! — that  Colnmbia  should  take  it 
into  hdr  head  to  wish  to  see  his  coi-pse.  The  pistol 
was  cocked,  his  finger  was  on  the  hair  trigger, 
another  instant  and    Dudley  Mondel  would  have 

executed  his  design, suddenly  a  deep  groan  was 

heard  in  the  Professor's  room. 

Mondel  instinctively  deferred  his  suicidal  project' 
in  order  to  fulfil  a  last  duty  to  humanity.      He 
found    the    patient    in    great    pain,   and  was  long 
occupied  in  attending  to  him. ' 

"  How  kind  you  are  !"  said  the  Professor — "  and 
yet,  if  you  knew  what  I  have  been !" 

"  What  have  you  been — a  murderer  ?"  said  Mon- 
del quietly. 

«  ^o — ^no,  not  so  bad  as  that ;  "  I  never  killed  a 
man  except  in  fair  fight,  and  I  don't  call  that 
murder,"  said  the  vagabond  argumentatively. 

"A  ]3irate — a  robber — a  forger?"  said  Mon- 
del. 

"  In  that  line,"  said  the  Professor  dismally. 

"  It  is  of  no  consequence,"  said  Mondel  cynically ; 
"  all  men  rob,  lie  and  commit  acts  of  brute-force, 
violence,  moral  or  physical.  It  is  a  mere  question 
of  for?n." 


#> 


182  JHE   SLAVJ5   OF  THE   LAMP. 

"  But  I  wisli  to — well,  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf 
when  I  get  well,"  said  tlie  bandit. 

"  Hardly  wortli  wliile,"  murmured  tlie  poet. 

"  I  tliought  it  would  please  you,"  said  the  Pro- 
fessor disappointedly ;  "  I  wanted  to  show  you  my 
gratitude  by  devoting  myself  to  your  service." 

"  IsTo  one  can  serve  me,"  said  Mondel ;  "  you  will 
never  see  me  again  in,  this  world." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?" 

"  I  simply  mean  that  I  am  going  to  shoot  myself; 
so  don't  be  alarmed  if  you  hear  the  report  of  a  pistol 
presently." 

"  Shoot  yourself  ?"  said  the  Professor,  "  what  for  ?" 

"Because  I  am  too  unhappy  to  live — the  only 
reason,  I  imagine,  for  which  men  ever  do  shoot  them 
selves." 

"You,  too  unhappy  to  live?  then  what  am  I?" 
said  the  hard-headed  vagabond,  who  had  a  blunt  sort 
of  logic  of  his  own,  which  Cope's  blow  had  luckily 
not  deranged.     "  What  am  I  ?" 

The  tremendous  contrast  thus  suggested,  caused 
Mondel  to  indulge  in  a  few  curious  reflections.  Men 
on  the  verge  of  suicide,  are  very  apt  to  reflect 
curiously. 

"  Are  you  hard  up  ?"  said  the  Professor,  "  people 
mostly  commit  suicide  for  want  of  money.  But  hold 
on  till  I'm  well,  and  I'll  raise  the  wind  for  you.    ]N"o 


LIFE  AND   DEATH.  183 

matter  how ;  that  is  mj  affair.  Men  must  live.  At 
any  rate,  I'll  take  all  the  risk." 

"Then,  you  would  rob  for  me,  my  friend?"  said 
Mendel,  with  a  slight  rising  in  the  throat ;  betoken- 
ing a  return  to  human  emotions,  which  he  would 
fain  have  repudiated. 

"  Why  not  ?  one  good  turn  deserves  another." 

"  I  see  you  have  some  sense  of  social  duties  and 
relations,"  said  Mondel,  smiling  grimly.  "  ]^everthe- 
less,  I  must  leave  you.     Good  night." 

"  But,  sir !"  cried  the  Professor,  at  his  wits'  end, 
"  what  will  become  of  me  if  you  shoot  yom-self  ?" 

"True,"  thought  Mondel,  "and  poor  Mrs.  ISTor- 
mer !  Her  position  will  be  very  unpleasant ;  besides, 
I  owe  her  fifty  dollars.  Pshaw,  what  are  the  paltry 
obhgations  of  society  to  a  soul  about  to  take  a  plunge 
into  eternity  ?" 

"  Sir,  sir,"  cried  the  Professor,  "  consider,  I  shall 
be  accused  of  the  mm-der !" 

"  I  will  leave  a  writing  to  explain,"  said  Mondel. 

The  Professor  relapsed  into  exhaustion.  ^ 

Mondel  returned  to  liis  room,  and  once  more  raised 
his  pistol.  He  pulled  the  trigger — the  hammer 
descended  on  the  cap — the  <;ap  ignited,  and  no  explo- 
sion followed!  Without  an  instant's  hesitation, 
Mondel  adjusted  the  second  pistol,  and  immediately 
fired — with  the  same  result. 


184  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMF. 

"  "Wonderful !"  exclaimed  the  would-be  suicide. 

"  ISTot  at  all ;  I  drew  the  charges,"  said  a  well- 
known  voice. 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  Peregiine 
Cope  stood  on  the  threshold. 

"  Why,  how  on  earth  did  you  enter  at  this  hour?" 

"  By  a  very  simple  magic — by  a  latch-key  which 
fits  your  door.  I  had  a  presentiment  that  something 
was  wi'ong  with  you." 

"How  so?" 

"  You  broke  your  appointment  with  me,  and  as 
you  and  I  have  agreed  long  ago  that  only  snobs  break 
appointments,  I  knew  there  was  cause  for  it.  I  have 
been  at  a  party  till  now,  and  coming  home,  I  felt  an 
unaccountable  curiosity  to  learn  what  had  happened 
to  you." 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Mondel,  "  I  really  forgot  you ; 
as  to  what  'has  happened,  I  have  been  simply  sen- 
tenced, and  the  execution  would  have  taken  place, 
but  for  your  well-meant  interference,  for  which  I 
Regret  not  to  be  able  to  thank  you." 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it?"  said  Cope. 

Mondel  told  his  tale.  It  is  in  such  cases  an  inex- 
pressible relief  to  confide  in  the  sympathy  of  a  real 
friend. 

Peregrine  Cope  said  all  that  ingenuity  could  suggest 
to  revive  the  hopes  of  his  friend.     "  All  I  ask  is 


LIFE   AND   DEATH.  185 

time,"  said  this  sage  counsellor,  after  a  long  conver- 
sation. "  Let  me  make  the  lady's  acquaintance,  and 
find  out  the  secret  cause  of  her  conduct — meanwhile, 
"be  sure  and  see  Eobert  Lax  to-morrow.  Let  us  die 
fighting  at  any  rate.  You  cannot  marry  without 
means,  and  literatm*e  is  the  devil.  Fix  the  capitalist, 
and  leave  me  to  watch  the  lady.    Good  night !" 

And  Cope  departed  as  noiselessly  as  he  had  entered, 
,  after  extorting  a  promise  from  Mondel,  to  defer  all 
extreme  measures  till  they  had  again  conversed  on 
the  subject. 

Mocdel,  who  had  eaten  nothing  all  day,  but  a  slice 
of  toast  at  brealvfast,  fell,  dressed  as  he  was,  upon  the 
sofa-bed  which  he  occupied  since  the  Professor  had 
become  his  guest,  and  soon  fell  into  an  uneasy  slum- 
ber, full  of  those  strange,  vivid,  fantastic  dreams, 
which  come  only  in  their  perfection,  under  circum- 
stances of  intense  cerebral  excitement. 

In  all  these  dreams  Columbia  figiu-ed  as  the  lead- 
ing acti'ess,  and  wonderful  was  the  variety  of  parts 
in  which  she  ever  fascinated  her  audience  with  equalf 
dexterity.  A  grand  theati-e  is  dream-land,  and  one 
in  which  some  splendid  di-amas  are  represented !  The 
best  of  it  is,  that  a  private  box  costs  nothing,  and 
that  all  the  actors  are  well  up  in  their  parts,  wMlst 
the  scenery  is  always  efi'ective,  and  the  repertoire 
absolutely  inexhaustible.      Although  Mondel    shot 


186  •     THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 

himself  over  and  over  again,  during  this  night  of 
restless  fantasies,  lie  was  rather  surprised  to  find  him- 
self in  perfectly  good  preservation  at  ten  o'clock  on 
the  following  morning,  expounding  to  Robert  Lax  the 
necessities  and  requirements  of  his  new  engines.  As 
for  the  Professor,  he  was  easily  persuaded  that  Mon- 
del's  eccentric  conversation  on  the  previous  night 
was  a  mere  joke  of  the  latter. 

"We  may  as  well  state  here  that  before  Mondel's 
ship  and  its  new  engines  were  ready  for  trial,  the 
Professor  had  perfectly  recovered  his  health,  and 
proved  a  most  valuable  aid  to  Mondel  in  the  minor 
arrangements  of  his  vessel.  But  the  retreat  of  the 
pirate's  children  he  utterly  failed  in  discovering. 
And  Sally  Smith  had  relapsed  into  the  universal  gulf 
of  Smithdom,  and  no  more  to  be  found.  Probably 
she  had  left  the  city,  and  taken  the  children  with 
her. 

Intense  occupation,  no  doubt,  deadened  the  sense 
of  his  loss  to  our  adventurous  lover,  yet  could   the 
%mage  of  Columbia  never  be  said  to  be  absent  from 
his  mind. 

Peregrine  Cope,  though  he  amused  his  friend  with 
news  of  Columbia's  looks  and  sayings,  was  con- 
strflined  to  report,  that  at  the  mention  of  his  (Mon- 
del's) name,  she  immediately  discontinued  or  changed 
the  conversation. 


LITE   AOT)  DEATH.  187 

Several  times  the  two  unfortunate  lovers  passed 
one  another  in  the  street,  but  Mondel'a  bow  was  met 
by  an  averted  look,  and  no  accident  occurred  to  pro- 
voke or  justify  a  closer  interview. 

It  seemed  as  if  these  two  noble  spirits  were  sepa- 
rated by  a  vast  wall  of  crystal,  impassable,  yet  trans- 
parent. Of  this  wall  Amelia  Tonkers  was  the  tri- 
umphant architect — she  and  her  guilty  admirer  and 
accomplice,  John  Berkeley  the  counterfeiter. 


,188  THE  S5-AVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 


CHAPTER  XYin. 


THE   GA]VfRLEBS. 


It  was  still  early  in  tlie  forenoon,  on  a  fine  dry 
dusty  summer's  day,  that  a  plainly  but  fasliionably- 
attired  gentleman  entered  an  open  doorway  in  a 
house  not  far  from  tlie  Park,  ascended  a  staircase, 
passed  through,  an  ante-room,  past  a  negro,  who 
vaguely  protested  against  the  liberty,  and,  without 
making  a  sign,  or  uttering  a  word,  walked  into  a 
large  room  devoted  to  the  blind  goddess  Fortune. 

In  the  centre  of  the  room  stood  a  faro-table,  with 
its  thirteen  cards  systematically  arranged.  Thirteen 
is  considered  an  unlucky  number,  and  when  the 
Devil  first  invented  cards  no  doubt  he  had  that 
superstition  in  view.  And  faro  is  an  unlucky  game 
for  those  who  play  against  the  bank,  especially  for 
confiding  individuals. 

In  tliis  great  country  talent  makes  itself  felt,  and 
a  "  smart"  man  soon  rises  from  the  humblest  obscur 
ity  to  positions  of  comparative  magnificence. 

We  beg  the  reader,  therefore,  not  to  be  too  much 


THE   GAMBLERS.  189 

amazed  at  recognizing  in  tlie  well-dressed,  well-oiled 
and  well-washed  gentleman  wlio  officiated  as  banker 
and  dealer,  our  quondam  vagabond,  Mr.  Robert 
Mombcross,  or  Confidence  Bob,  wbom  not  long  ago 
.  we  saw  succumb  so  ingloriously  to  tbe  valor  of  tlic 
illustrious  O'Bouncer,  maternally  descended,  as  we 
know,  from  the  imperial  house  of  Fitzgammon. 

By  his  side,  and  occupied  with  the  cash  box  and 
counters,  sat  the  sharp-eyed  Slinker.  Ai'ound  the 
table  were  divers  gentlemen  of  the  great  gambling 
fraternity,  with  the  queerest  physiognomies,  and  the 
quietest  and  easiest  manners. 

At  first  sight,  the  gambler  and  the  trading  specu- 
lator resemble  one  another.  But  the  vulture-like 
greed,  and  cold  pitiless  selfishness  which  causes  so 
many  faces  in  "Wall  street  to  resemble  birds  of  prey, 
or  venomous  reptiles,  is  rarely  seen  amongst  gamb- 
lers. The  gambler  has  travelled,  has  seen  ups  and 
downs  in  life,  has  experienced  the  necessity  of  friend- 
ship. He  is  at  open  war  with  society — he  cheats  in  a 
manner  professedly.  lie  does  not  try  to  humbug 
you  into  the  idea  that  he  is  an  honest  man. 

Gamblers  may,  as  a  general  rule,  be  divided  into 
two  great  classes — insiders  or  swindlei-s,  outsiders  or 
dupes.  The  first  swindler — I  here  consider  cheating 
as  a  fine  art — is  he,  who  wearing  a  quiet  frank  air, 
says  little  or  nothing,  and,  above  all,  avoids  looking 


190  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

as  if  lie  knew  more  than  anotlier.  The  most  egregious 
dupe  is  he  who  has  the  will,  but  lacks  the  ingenuity 
to  cheat.  Such  men  are  always  terribly  cunning,  and 
much  given  to  assert  the  utter  fallacy  of  an  attempt 
to  take  them  in.  Of  course  no  really  accomplished 
gambler  ever  even  contemplates,  much  less  talks  of, 
such  a  casualty.  He  may  be  robbed  or  victimized 
as  a  friend,  but  cheated  ? — impossible  ! 
•  The  British  nobility  and  gentry  have  brought  the 
gambling  swindle  perhaps  to  higher  perfection  than 
any  other  class  or  nation,  in  the  development  of  their 
exquisitely  rascally  turf  system. 

The  French  Bourse,  or  Stock  Exchange,  is,  how- 
ever, by  some  considered  admirable,  and  the  King 
or  Emperor  there,  as  the  case  may  be,  and  their 
ministers,  aided  by  Rothschild  and  the  bankocrats, 
find  dishonesty  the  best  policy  to  an  extent  almost 
incredible  to  the  uninitiated. 

America — putting  the  Presidential  elections  aside 
— America  excels  mainly  in  dowm-ight  gambling 
proper.  Although  Germany  still  maintains  public 
and  authorized  tables,  it  is  only  in  America  that 
gamblei-s  can  be  said  to  form  a  distinct  and  impor- 
tant class  of  the  community. 

This  dangerous  norv-jproducmg  class  swarms  on  the 
Mississippi  River,  in  New  Orleans,  ISTew  York,  and 
all  great  cities.    It  is  a  heavy  additional  tax  on  the 


THE   GAMBLEES.  191 

working  part  of  tlie  community.  The  gambling 
resembles  the  banking-system  or  swindle  ;  it  is  the 
cunning  of  the  few  playing,  with  every  chance  in  its 
favor,  against  the  ignorance  of  the  many. 

Tlie  pertinacity  of  ignorance  is  wonderful ! 
■  Expose  all  the  tricks  of  gamblers,  and  the  utter 
stupidity  of  frequenting  gambling-houses  to-day,  and 
no  diminution  of  their  custom  would  be  perceived  by 
the  "  bankers  "  to-morrow. 

Explain  that  unproductive  capital  bearing  interest 
is  a  ridiculous  fallacy,  a  gross  imposture  or  practical 
joke ;  in  short,  that  banking  is  a  merely  well-planned 
system  of  fraud,  and  who  will  understand  you,  though 
your  explanation  be  as  clear  as  crystal,  and  as  logical 
as  Euclid  ? 

But  the  banker  is  a  superior  trickster  to  the  gamb- 
ler, for  the  gambler  is  content  to  win  your  money, 
without  asking  you  to  pay  more  than  one  per  centage 
for  the  use  of  his  counters  ! 

In  a  community  of  highly-educated  men,  the  propo- 
sition to  gamble  or  start  a  bank,  on  the  plan  now  pre- 
vailing, would  simj)ly  be  laughed  at. 

But  to  show  the  bm-lesque  extravagance  of  labor 
allowing  its  blood  to  be  sucked  by  these  two  classes 
of  vampires,  let  us  suppose  a  case  sufficiently  limited 
to  admit  of  mathematical  reasoning. 

Ten  men  witli  their  families  inhabit  an  island  con- 


192  THE  SLAVE  OF  TUE  LAMP. 

taining  ten  liunclred  acres  of  land.     Mne  work,  and 
cultivate,  sow,  plant,  weave,  quarry,  fish  ^n^  produce 
to  their  utmost  ability.    One  turns  banker,  and  issues, 
for  purposes  of  exchange,  one  hundred  bills,  each 
representing  an  acre  of  land.     The  security  is  unques- 
tionable, the  land  of  certam  value.     The  other  nme 
pay  him  interest  for  the  use  of  his  bills,  which  they 
use  as  a  means  of  exchange  amongst  themselves. 
The  banker  lives  on  part  of  his  income  by  exchang- 
ing it  for  labor  and  produce,  but  he  finds  that  he  can 
live  on  the  value  of  five  acres — there  remain  five  due 
to  him.      This  must  be  paid  him  in  land.      At  the 
end  of  twenty  years  he  has  two  hundred  acres,  and 
supposing  the  rest  of  the  commimity  to  have  pros- 
pered equally,  each  of  his  fellow-islanders  will  possess 
a  fraction  less  than  eighty-nine  acres.     In  this  calcu- 
lation, also,  I  have  omitted  to  consider  compound 
interest.     In  reality,  if  the  banker  lived  to  be  an  old 
man,  and  speculated   cleverly,  he  might  very  well 
become  the  possessor  of  the  whole  island,  and  its 
inhabitants  his  slaves.    In  the  same  way  a  cunning 
gambler  would  win  the  whole  island  at  faro,  or  rouge 
et  nou',  with  infallible  certainty.    The  reign  of  bank- 
ers, speculators  and  gamblers  has  succeeded  that  of 
feudal  lords.     It  is  equally  oppressive  and  absurd.    In 
England  and  France  it  has  become  a  bondage  of  the 
most  agonizing  description.     In  America  it  would 


THE   GAMBLEKS.  193 

soon  arrive  at  tlie  same  point  but  for  the  resource  of 
fiight  from  the  horrors  of  civilized  barbarism,  which 
our  extent  of  territory  or  vast  tracts  of  unoccupied 
lands  offer,  and  for  the  grand  army  of  philosophers 
■who  even  now  are  (thanks  to  the  free  speech  and  free 
press  of  a  free  country)  disseminating  those  mighty 
and  radical  truths  which,  ere  long,  will  be  seen  to 
prove  the  banker  with  his  antitype  the  forger,  as  vile 
an  excrescence  of  ignorant  childhood  in  thought,  as 
the  professional  gambler  or  the  representative  form 
of  government. 

It  is  time  to  speak  when  in  our  great  cities  a  poet 
or  a  workman — that  is,  a  simple  "son  of  man"  can 
scarcely  find  a  spot  whereon  to  lay  his  head,  owing 
to  the  exorbitant  rents  artificially  forced  up  by  the 
sham-money  conspiracy;  It  is  time  to  speak  when, 
instead  of  working  and  producing  even  the  slightest 
benefit  to  society  at  large,  whole  classes  of  men  (as  in 
the  old  world  of  tyranny  and  pauperism)  devote 
themselves  to  the  mean  and  useless  careers  of  the 
banker,  stock-broker  and  gambler !  It  is  time  to 
speak  when,  as  in  degraded  Europe,  the  imposture 
called  government  is  carried  on  by  corrupt  so-called 
majorities  in  defiance  of  individual  sovereignty  and 
common  sense;  that  a  corrnptly-elected  President 
and  a  corruptly-elected  Legislature,  with  their  lazy 
followers,  may  divide  that  other  Old  World  villainy 


194  THE   SLATE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

the  budget,  derived  from  national  taxation  (that  is 
plunder)  amongst  them ! 

'No  wonder  men  turn  thieves,  gamblers,  anything, 
to  escape  the  dire  fate  of  the  workman — that  is,  the" 
slave,  the  drudge,  the  pauper,  the  victim  ! 

ISTo  wonder  poets  die  in  despair,  or  wander  ragged 
and  penniless  in  a  laud  which  the  curses  of  govern- 
ment, bankers  and  desperadoes  yet  desolate.  But  my 
dear  slant-browed  friends  in  Wall  street,  my  very 
eloc[uent  friends  in  Congress,  and  my  very  devil-may- 
care  friends  in  the  countless  petty  robbers'  caves  called 
gambling-hells,'  all  over  the  land,  a  day  is  at  hand 
when  men  will  begin  to  suspect,  as  we  of  tjie  advanced 
guard  Tcnow,  that  in  an  educated  community  where 
every  man  is  armed,  and  ready  to  defend  his  liberty, 
where  public  opinion  can  be  expressed  without  check, 
it  may  not  be  absolutely  necessary  to  pay  a  crowd  of 
men  called  a  government,  to  prevent  us  from  eating 
one  another,  or  a  foreign  foe  from  eating  us.  Some 
suspicion  may  then  dawn  that  letters  can  be  forwarded 
without  a  government  post-office,  and  that  public 
lands  can  be  more  justly  appropriated  to  the  use  of 
those  who  have  nothing,  than  to  the  profit  of  the 
gi'asping  and  idle  speculator.  It  may  also  prove  that, 
in  an  enlightened  society,  public  justice  is  quite  as 
effectual  in  repressing  crime  as  public  law.  In  a 
word,  it  may  prove  that  public  liberty  is  quite  as 


THE   GAMBLEK3.  195 

natural  a  system  as  pubKc  government,  and  tliat  tlie 
Presidential,  Congressional  and  Senatorial  parody  of 
King,  Lords  and  Commons,  was  no  such  grand 
invention  after  all ! 

In  those  days,  men  may  also  suspect  the  feasibility 
of  giving  one  another  credit,  and  employing  a  circu- 
lating medium  to  represent  value,  without  paying 
highly  respectable  bankers  three  or  four  times  over 
for  the  privilege  of  using  their  very  valuable  auto- 
graphs. In  those  days,  the  idea  that  a  man  should 
first  lend  his  money,  and  receive  interest  for  it  from 
the  State  (deposit  stock),  then  issue  notes  upon  it,  and 
lend  it  a  second  time,  a  third,  a  fourth  time,  at  inte- 
rest to  the  community,  will  appear  rather  too  funny 
to  be  realized ! 

Finally,  I  do  not  think  in  those  days  that  profes- 
sional gamblers  will  find  many  persons  ignorant 
enough  to  sit  down  deliberately  to  play  a  game  in 
which  the  chances  are  against  them  to  begin  with, 
and  all  possibility  of  cheating  on  the  side  of  the 
banker. 


196  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE  LAMP. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

OLD   LATITUDE   AND   LONGITUDE. 

Thet  were  a  queer  set  of  faces  round  the  table  at 
which  Confidence  Bob  presided.  There  was  a  sallow, 
orientally -visaged  gentleman,  with  a  long  nose,  half- 
closed  sleepy  eyes,  and  a  neatly  trimmed  moustache, 
who  looked  the  personification  of  incapacity-to-be- 
surprised-at-anything.  There  was  a  light-haired, 
close-cropped,  close-shaven,  bull-necked  young  man, 
whose  air  of  resolute  roguery  was  Anglo-Saxon  to  the 
very  marrow.  There  was  a  big  red- whiskered  Irish- 
man, with  large  coarse  features,  and  small  eyes,  sur- 
rounded by  creases,  whose  soul  appeared  to  have  had 
hard  work  to  make  the  body  a  fit  medium  for  the 
acute  observation  required  in  a  gambler's  existence. 
Then  there  was  a  clerical-looking  man,  of  methodical 
mien,  in  a  very  high  shirt  collar,  with  large  silver- 
rimmed  spectacles,  and  grey  hair — an  old  stager, 
slow  but  sure  ;  not  to  mention  a  dusky  Spaniard, 
who  might  have  sat  for  a  portrait  of  Mephistopheles. 
All  these   were  gamblers  by  j^rofession,  agglome- 


OLD   LATITUDE   AND   LONGITUDE.  197 

rated,  heaven  knows  how,'  around  the  ncwlj-started 
bank. 

Most  of  them  had  queer  stories  to  tell  of  wonderful 
tricks,  runs  of  luck,  dire  catastropliies,  and  revolver 
and-bowie-knife  adventures,  which,  as  a  general  rule, 
happened  "  when  thej  were  in  California." 

"  When  I  was  in  California" — that  is  the  starting 
point  with  a  gambler.  A  gambler  who  has  not 
visited  the  golden  shores  of  the  Pacific,  is  not  thought 
much  of  by  his  tribe ;  unless  he  has  the  wonderful 
merit  of  being  in  funds.  And  gamblers,  like  the  rest 
of  the  world,  revere  success  above  all  other  virtues. 
There  is  a  savage  logic  in  this  religion  of  the  trader 
and  the  gambler.  Of  internal  forces  they  cannot 
judge,  from  the  weakness  of  their  intellectual  totali- 
ties. Their  reasoning  and  imaginative  powers,  being 
feebly  developed,  perception  of  present  fact  governs 
them.     What  they  see  they  believe. 

The  moment  the  well-dressed  stranger  entered  the 
room.  Confidence  Bob  recognized  his  superior  demon 
and  financial  lord  and  master — the  Alterer. 

Let  us  still  call  him  by  the  name  with  which  habit 
has  made  us  familiar. 

Ko  sign  of  recognition  was  exchanged  between 
Lucifer  and  his  imps.  By  this  time  they  were  well 
drilled  in  their  duty.  . 

The  other  gamblers  eyed  the  new-comer  with  curi- 


198  THE    SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

ositj.  Tliere  was  sometliing  in  his  keen  briglit  eye 
that  awed  them  into  a  vagne  admiration.  He  did 
not  look  like  a  pigeon  come  to  be  plucked.  ISTever- 
theless  lie  began  to  play,  staking  fifty  dollars  at  a 
time.  In  ten  minutes,  lie  bad  won  'five  hundred. 
The  uninitiated  band  looked  aghast.  A  third  of 
their  leader's  professed  capital  was  gone  already.  To 
them  the  Alterer  was  an  utter  sti*anger. 

The  bull-necked  Anglo-Saxon,  by  the  time  another 
five  hundred  dollars  had  been  transferred  by  Confi- 
dence Bob  to  his  mysterious  patron,  grew  quite  ner- 
vous, and  called  to  mind  a  pleasing  reminiscence  of 
a  "  house"  with  which  he  had  been  connected,  of  a 
lucky  stranger,  like  the  present,  and  a  desperate  skir- 
mish— ending  in  a  half  inanimate  body  thrown  reck- 
lessly from  a  back  windowj  and  a  general  escapade, 
or,  as  the  Mexicans  would  say,  estampede,  of  the 
whole  band  from  the  establishment. 

But  Confidence  Bob  remained  unmoved.  Presently 
the  run  of  luck  changed,  and  the  stranger  lost  hundred 
after  hundred.  Meanwhile,  a  new  player  appeared 
upon  the  scene.  He  was  a  tall,  cadaverous-looking, 
powerful  man,  with  a  ragged  beard,  moustaches  and 
hair,  which,  from  the  mixture  of  yellow  and  grey, 
appeared  of  a  greenish  color.  His  eyes  were  light 
blue,  and  gleamed  with  a  steady  lurid  brightness. 
His  eyebrows  were  dai-k,  arched  and  tufted.    His 


OLD   LATITUDE   AND   LONGITUDE.  199 

nose  was  long  and  ac[uiline.  .  His  moutli  a  line,  the 
lips  being  so  thin  and  compressed  as  to  be  nearly 
imperceptible.  His  jaws  were  lean,  liis  forebead  bigli, 
narrow  and  wrinkled.  His  figure  was  gaunt,  bis  neck 
scraggy,  and  bis  limbs  long  and  loosely  bung.  His 
age  was  perbaps  five  and  forty.  Tlic  deep  lines  of  bis 
face  appeared  to  be  ratber  tbe  result  of  care  and 
tbougbt  tban  of  age.     His  dress  was  tliat  of  a  beggar. 

A  miserable  frock-coat  of  brown  clotb,  stained, 
tbreadbare  and  torn,  was  buttoned  across  bis  cbest  in 
order  to  conceal  to  the  utmost  a  dirty  blue-cbeck 
sbirt,  and  a  tattered  vest,  on  wbicb,  five  buttons  out 
of  six  were  wanting.  His  pantaloons  were  black ; 
but  wbat  a  black !  wbat  a  miserable,  sliiny,  napless, 
wbitisb  pretence  to  blackness !  wbat  a  meeting  of 
extremes !  Hjs  boots  without  soles,  witb  heels  worn 
down  to  the  quick, — well,  well,  it  was  a  sad  joke  to 
call  them  boots  at  all !  Tliey  were  indeed  on  their 
last  legs,  for  how  they  could  be  taken  oflf  and  put  on 
again,  even  once  more,  without  going  to  pieces  and 
utterly  perishing,  was  an  inconceivable  problem. 
On  bis  head,  to  crown  all,  was  a  broad-'brimmed 
green  felt-hat,  the  very  incarnation  of  shapeless 
limpness,  and  unrecorded  antiquity. 

Yet,  this  poverty-stricken  wretch  was  a  gambler, 
and  a  gambler  too  of  no  common  order.  He  was 
well-known  to  several  of  the  men  present.  ,  ^   , 


200  THE    SLAVE   OK   THE   LAMP. 

"  Here  comes  old  Latitude  and  Longitude,"  said 
tlie  long-nosed  gambler. 

"  'E  come  yesterday,"  said  the  Slinker,  "  and  lost  a 
dollar  and  an  'arf." 

"What's  a  narf  ?"  said  the  bull-necked  young  man. 

"  Give  me  counters  for  these,"  said  the  ragged 
gambler,  cautiously  handing  across  the  table,  a  dollar 
aiote  and  silver  to  the  amount  of  two  dollars  more. 

Confidence  Bob  handed  him  six  fifty  cent  counters, 
and  the  strange  being  commenced  playing  away,  not 
the  earnings,  but  the  heggings  of  a  week,  with  a  look 
of  the  most  intense  eagerness. 

Li  a  few  minutes  he  had  doubled  his  capital.  He 
staked  boldlyon  the  knave,  and  three  times  running 
the  knave  did  not  deceire  him,  even  knaves  know 
pity.  He  had  won  twenty-four  dollars.  He  trans- 
ferred his  stake  to  the  ace,  and  still  won — who  trusts 
to  number  one  is  generally  fortunate.  He  pushed 
his  forty-eight  dollars  over  to  the  queen.  Tlie  faith- 
less sex  betrayed  his  confidence.  He  lost.  Confi- 
dence Bob  swept  away  his  pile  of  counters. 

"  If  I  had  only  coppered !"  muttered  the  ragged 
gambler,  "  I  was  nearly  doing  it.  Ah !  all  is  gone, 
and  I  have  not  eaten  to-day." 

"  Take  this,"  said  the  Alterer,  thrusting  a  half 
dollar  piece  into  his  hand  unperceived ;  and  then  even 
Berkeley's  hard  nature  somewhat  relenting  at  the 


OLD  LATITUDE  AND  LONGITUDE.         201 

aspect  of  tlio  unlucky  one,  lie  wliispered,  "  I  will 
add  a  five  dollar  bill,  if  you  will  promise  not  to  play 
with  it." 

"  No,"  wliispered  the  beggar  hoarsely,  "  give  me  a 
three,  and  let  me  try  once  more  1" 

The  maker  of  money  in  a  moment  of  caprice 
handed  the  desired  bill  to  the  stranger,  who  speedily 
staked  and  lost  it,  as  well  as  the  fifty-cent  piece,  with 
unwavering  fanaticism.        •    '   .• 

"You  are  out  of  luck  to-day,  Mr.  Peter  Quartz," 
said  Confidence  Bob,  on  whom  the  fierce  blue  eyes 
of  the  ragged  gambler  were  fixed  vacantly. 

'•'  Out  of  luck !"  growled  the  beggar,  "  yes,  I  am 
out  of  luck,  and  yet  what  are  all  your  paltry  gains 
compared  to  the  treasure  which  is  mine.  If  you  but 
knew  the  latitude  and  longitude  !" 

"  Well,  what  if  we  did  ?"  said  the  long-nosed 
gambler,  coolly  pufling  a  cigar. 

"  You  would  know  where  the  gold  is — that  is  all !" 

By  this  time  the  Altorcr  found  himself  a  loser  by 
some  ti-ifling  sum,  and  having  played  his  part  and 
made  his  observations,  lounged  carelessly  out  of  the 
room. 

The  ragged  gambler  followed  him  closely. 

"Sir!"  said  the  mendicant,  "I  know  where 
gold  is  to  be  had  for  the  taking,  I  know  the  latitude 
and  longitude — if  you  can  aid  me,  if  a  ship  can  be 

9* 


202  ■  THE    SLATE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

obtained,  I  will  sliare  witli  you  wealth,  without  limit 
— thousands — millions"^ 

"  My  friend,"  said  the  counterfeiter,  "  I  am  no 
ship-owner." 

"  But  I  ofi'er  you  the  secret  of  unbounded  wealth !" 
said  the  beggar  earnestly. 

"  "Which  I  ah-eady  possess,"  said  the  Alterer, 
gloomily. 

"But  it  is  of  gold — solid  gold — gold  by  the 
hundred  weight,  by  the  ton,  by  the  ship-load,  that  I 
sx3eak  ! — ^It  is  to  be  had  for  the  fetching." 

"  I  can  dispense  with  the  trouble  of  fetching,"  said 
the  grim  jester.  "  My  friend,  did  you  ever  hear  of 
the  philospher's  stone  and  the  alchymists  ?" 

"  "What  miserable  folly !"  groaned  the  ragged  gam- 
bler ;  "  dreams,  visions,  insanity !" 

"  Look  at  me  !"  said  the  Alterer. 

"  I  look." 

"Good;  you  see  an  alchymist  before  you." 

"  What !  you  can  make  gold  of  lead,  of  iron,  of 
some  baser  metal  V 

"  Of  yet  cheaper  materials." 

"  To  any  extent  ?— But  this  is  folly." 

"  "Without  limit,  save  my  will.  Here,  t/ike  a 
quarter,  and  dine  in  the  devil's  name,"  said  Berkeley 
striding  hastily  away.  "  It  is  useless  to  give  the 
poor  wretch  money,"  thought  the  counterfeiter,  "  he 


OLD   LATFIUDE   AND   LONGITUDE.  203 

would  only  return  and  throw  it  into  the  hellish  cash- 
box.  He  is  evidently  a  lunatic,  Avhose  mania  is  some 
sunken  treasure  or  fabulous  Eldorado." 

"  Fool !"  said  the  beggar  to  himself,  "  fool !  to 
waste  time  in  jesting  when  I  had  half  made  up  my 
mind  to  offer  my  secret  at  a  bargain.  But  it  is  still 
mine!"  he  murmured  proudly,  "  and  no  other  man 
living  knows  the  latitude  and  longitude  but  mysClf !" 


204  THE    SLATK   OF   THE   LAMP. 


CHAPTER  XX, 

,  GOLD. 

"  Columbia,"  said  Mr.  Yonkers  one  evening,  wlien 
taking  tea  at  home  witli  Ms  daughter,  Mrs.  Yonkers 
being  absent  on  a  visit,  "  Columbia,  what  has  become 
of  your  literary  friend,  Mr.  Mondel  ? " 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"  He  has  not  been  here  lately  ?" 

"1^0,  papa." 

"Why  does  he  not  come ?  I  wished  to  see  him. 
Robert  Lax  tells  me  they  are  fitting  up  a  ship  with 
new  engines,  that  will  give  steam  the  go-by.  If  any- 
body but  Lax  went  into  it  I  should  not  believe  in  it. 
But  Lax  is  a  smart  man — ^very.  You  have  seen 
Robert  Lax  ?" 

"  Yes,  papa." 

Columbia  spoke  in  a  sweet,  subdued  tone,  endea- 
voring to  conceal  her  listlessness  and  depression  from 
her  father,  whose  rough  inquisition  she  dreaded,  not- 
withstanding his  unbounded  affection  for  her,  as  testi- 
fied from  her  earliest  youth,  in  the  humoring  of  all 


GOLD.  205 

her  delicate  tastes  and  caprices,  no  matter  how  little 
Mr.  Yonkers  was  capable  of  nnderstanding  them. 

"They  say  Eobert  Lax  is  worth  three  millions," 
said  Mr.  Yonkers.  -.    -   .'    .  •  "-. 

IN'o  Indian  worshipping  his  three-headed  god  conld 
have  possibly  felt  or  expressed  by  his  looks  a  deeper 
reverence  than  did  Harrison  B.  Yonkers,  by  the 
solemn  gi-avity  of  his  tone,  imply  for  tliis  three-mil- 
lioned  commercialist. 

"His  daughter  is  a  fine  girl,"  pursued  Mr.  Yon- 
kers, reflectively — a  great  catch  for  this  scribbling 
friend  of  yours,  if  old  Lax  gives  him  a  chance. 
Why,  Columbia,  you  look  as  if  you  were  not  listen- 
ing to  me.  I  say  that  Mr.  Mondel  might  make  his 
fortune  by  marrying  Julia  Lax,  by  a  much  shorter 
cut  than  inventing  steam-engines. 

Columbia  was  silent.  Her  father's  careless  talk 
tlu-ew  her  into  a  train  of  the  saddest  and  most  bitter 
reflections.  In  spite  of  her  conviction  of  his  unwor- 
thiness,  she  still  felt  an  undefinable  interest  in  the 
destinies  of  her  adventurous  lover.  Strange  to  say, 
even  tlie  revolting  secret  of  his  by-gone  intrigues 
with  her  step-mother  did  not  wound  her  so  deeply  aa 
the  idea  of  his  irrevocable  union  with  llobert  Lax's 
heiress.  A  woman  who  has  once  loved  a  man  finds 
considerable  difficulty  in  imagining  that  another 
woman  can  be  othei-wise  than  flattered  by  liis  pre- 


206  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

ference.  Columbia  laiew  that,  except  in  point  of 
wealth,  all  comparison  between  herself  and  Julia  Lax 
was  preposterous.  She  had  frequently  encountered 
the  heiress  in  question  at  evening  parties.  Miss  Lax 
was  what  men  nsnallj  designate  as  an  uncommonly- 
fine  girl.  She  had  a  tall,  splendidly-developed  figure, 
fine  dark  eyes  and  abundant  ringlets,  and  was  decid- 
edly one  of  the  best-dressed  women  in  'New  York. 
It  is  true  that  she  was  somewhat  stupid — ^perhaps 
even  slightly  vulgar  in  her  manners,  but  then — her 
father  had  three  millions,  and  Mondel  was  nnprin- 
cij)led  and  ambitions. 

"Why,  Columbia,  you  do  not  seem  to  relish  this 
idea  of  a  match  between  your  poetical  friend  and 
Miss  Lax?" 

"  I  assure  you,  papa,"  said  Columbia,  "  it  is  a  mat- 
ter of  perfect  indifference  to  me  whether  Mr.  Mondel 
marries  Miss  Lax  or  not." 

"Lideed!"  said  Mr.  Yonkers..  ";N"ow,  do  yon 
know  it  occurred  to  me  the  other  day  that  you  did 
take  some  interest  in  Mr.  Mondel's  matrimonial  pro- 
ceedings ?" 

"  You  are  qnite  mistaken,  papa,  you  are  quite  mis- 
taken," said  Columbia,  coldly. 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Mr.  Yonkers,  "  these 
writing  men  are  never  worth  a  cent,  and  make 
imcommonly  bad  husbands.    In  nine  cases  out  of 


GOLD.  207 

ten,  tliey  are  o'oues  and  spencltlirifts.  I  heard  the 
other  day  of  one  of  them  who  deserted  his  wife  and 
ran  away  with  one  of  the  female  horse-riders  from 
the  circus.  I  never  thought  much  of  your  scribblers," 
pursued  Mr.  Yonkei*s.  "  There  was  Fox,  I  recollect, 
who  used  to  edit  the  Atlantic  Journal,  and  levied 
black-mail  upon  every  one  whose  credit  was  at  all 
shakey." 

"  But,  papa,"  said  Columbia,  "  you  surely  do  not 
confound  Mr.  Mondel  with  such  miserable  creatm-es. 
He  is  bad  enough,  no  doubt " 

Columbia  paused  ;  she  felt  that  she  was  about  to 
commit  herself. 

Mr.  Tonkers,  however,  with  the  persistent  obsti- 
nacy that  characterizes  some  men,  in  pui'suing  a 
subject  to  the  death — or,  as  journalists  say — running 
it  into  the  ground,  retm-ned  once  more  to  the  charge. 

"You  see,  Columbia,  as  you  are  now  three  and 
twenty,  and  have  refused  so  many  offers  from  men 
of  the  highest  respectability  and  position,  I  took  it 
into  my  head  that  as  you  were  so  fond  of  books  and 
literature,  perhaps  nothing  but  a  book-reading  and 
book-making  man  would  suit  you.  Now,  what  I 
want  is  to  see  you  happy.  So  don't  be  afraid  of 
telling  me  the  truth.  If  this  vei-sifying  gentleman 
pleases  you  say,  so,  and  money  shan't  stand  in  the  way 
of  yoiu-  happiness.    I  do  not  suppose  ho  is  worth  a 


208  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 

cent,  but  lie  seems  a  straiglitforwarcl,  man]  j  fellow — 
I  met  liim  at  Eobert  Lax's  to-day,  and  had  some  talk 
with  him — this  shij)  of  his  may  turn  out  a  great  spe- 
culation, after  all.  So,  if  my  suspicions  are  con-ect, 
as  Mrs.  Yonkers  is  out  of  the  way,  just  tell  me  all 
about  it,  and  how  it  stands  between  you." 

Columbia,  touched  by  this  kindness  and  generosity 

on  the  part  of  her  father,  rose  gently,  jDut  her  arm 

round  his  neck,  kissed  his  rubicund  cheek,  and  said 

'  in  a  very  low  voice — so  low  that  it  was  almost  a 

whisper — 

"Thank  you,  my  dear  father,  thank  you  for  your 
kind  intentions ;  but  you  are  quite  mistaken.  Mr. 
Mondel  is  nothing  to  me  beyond  a  mere  acquain- 
tance— ^nothing  more  :  absolutely  nothing." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Mr.  Yonkers,  "  say  no  more 
about  it  Colly ;  I  went  on  the  principle  that  birds  of 
a  feather  flock  together,  but  I  see  that  two  of  a  trade 
can't  agree  is  your  motto.  By-the-by,  a  curious  thing 
happened  to-day.  A  mad  begging  fellow  came  to  my 
office,  and  asked  me  if  I  dealt  in  bullion,  and  whether 
I  wanted  to  know  where  it  was  to  be  had  by  the  ton 
for  the  taking.  He  said  he  knew  the  latitude  and 
longitude,  and  offered  to  go  halves  with  me  if  I  would 
fit  up  a  ship,  and  send  him  after  it.  It  was  only  a 
three  months'  voyage,  I  think,  he  said.  He  looked 
as   ragged  as   an  Irish   emigrant,  though   his   face 


GOLD.  209 

and  talk  were  American.  I  gave  him  a  dollar  to  get 
rid  of  liim.  It's  astonishing  what  queer  people  come 
boring  a  man  who  has  money  with  their  wild-goose 
schemes.  Imagine  a  fellow  in  rags  coolly  asking  mc 
to  risk  ten  thousand  dollars  on  his  bare  word  !  Why, 
a  man  came  to  me  one  day,  and  offered  to  make  dia- 
monds out  of  coal."  - 

"  But,  papa,"  said    Columbia,  "  the    chemists    at 
Paris  have  done  it." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Mr.  Yonkers ; 
"  but  this  speculative  friend  of  mine  said  it  took  a  ton 
of  coal  to  make  a  square  inch  of  diamond.  I  advanced 
him  the  money  to  set  up  his  furnaces,  and  I  never 
saw  him  again  from  that  day  to  this.  No,  no,"  said 
Mr.  Yonkers,  "  I'm  not  to  be  taken  in  by  your  gojden 
romances — though  I  suspect  the  fellow  was  mad,  and 
I'm  not  sorry  I  gave  him  the  dollar." 
At  this  moment  Mrs.  Yonkei-s  entered. 
By  a  curious  coincidence,  not  three  minutes  elaijsed 
before  Mr.  John  Berkeley  was  announced. 

"  Ah  !  Mr.  Berkeley,  how  are  you  ?"  said  Yonkers. 
"  Of  course  you  have  hoard  that  there  is  a  rise  in  the 

stock,  you  lucky  dog,  you.     What  a  fool  I  was 

to  sell  out  the  day  before  yesterday.  However,  I 
don't  care  much  for  your  stocks  now ;  I  stick  to  tho 
solids."  •  ■ 

"  Gold  is  the  true  metal,"  said  the  Altcrer ;  and, 


210  TKE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

turning  lais  bright  eye  on  Mr.  Yonkei-s,  he  gave  fhe 
rich  man  a  very  peculiar  look. 

It  was  the  sort  of  look  which  a  crouching  tiger 
throws  on  the  fated  buffalo  from  his  jungle. 

In  that  look  was  expressed  Mr.  Harrison  B. 
Yonkers'  destiny. 


THE   BEGGAR   AND   THE   POET.  211 


CnAPTEE    XXI. 

THE  BEGGAE  AOT)   THE   POET. 

Theee  are  some  faces  which  attract  confidence. 
Mondel's  was  one  of  them.  Though  somewhat  stern, 
there  was  a  certain  noble  gentleness  about  its 
ordinary  expression,  which  caused  strangers  to  feel 
secure  against  a  haughty  or  careless  repulse  of  their 
advances.  To  this  peculiarity  the  poet  was  indebted 
for  many  a  strange  confession,  and  wonderful  history 
recounted  to  him  by  people  whom  he  beheld  for  the 
first  time,  and  often  never  set  eyes  on  again. 

It  is  by  listening  to  the  life-stories  of  the  obscure, 
and  comparing  tlicm  with  the  biographies  of  the 
great,  that  a  great  writer  forms  his  gallery  of  studies, 
and  completes  his  knowledge  of  human  nature. 

Mondcl,  as  we  have  seen,  was  a  great  student  of 
character.  No  wonder  that  his  attention  was  attracted 
to  a  face  so  striking  as  that  of  the  ragged  gambler, 
with  whose  general  appearance  the  reader  is  already 
familiar.  •  . 

It  was  in  the  park  at  the  Battery.  -'      -  - 


212  THE    SLAVE   OF   TITE   LAMP. 

Mondel  was  looking  at  the  water.  His  birtli  upon 
the  ocean  had  left  in  his  mind  an  unbounded  love  of 
the  sea,  which,  but  for  the  yet  more  potent  influence 
of  beauty,  would  have  infallibly  made  a  sailor  of 
the  poet. 

When  a  boy,  he  was  a  hundred  times  on  the  eve 
of  running  away,  and  trying  his  fortune  on  the  gi-eat 
waters,  but  for  some  sweet  bright-eyed  little  girl, 
whose  loss  he  could  not  bear  to  contemplate.  Mon- 
del often  said  that  he  could  not  recollect  the  time 
when  he  was  not  in  love. 

At  six  years  of  age  he  had  quite  a  passion  for  a 
young  lady  with  ringlets  that  hung  to  her  waist,  and 
a  blue  sash. 

Atien,  he  was  quite  serious  about  the  matter,  and 
promised  marriage  to  a  blonde  syren  of  nine  and  a 
half,  but  quite  as  precocious  in  sentiment  as  himself. 

At  fourteen,  he  grew  desperately  enamored  of  a 
third  young  enchantress,  and  wrote  poems  to  her,  in 
which  "  tresses  "  rhymed  to  "  caresses,"  "  charms  " 
to  "  arms,"  and  "  grace  "  to  "  embrace."  Finally, 
before  his  going  abroad  to  complete  his  education, 
the  engagement  was  solemnly  ratified. 

At  fifteen — O  fickleness  of  man ! — we  find  him 
"  compromised  "  with  a  young  French  lady's-maid ; 
and  at  sixteen,  really  in  the  vortex  of  a  grcmde 
passion  for  a  German  baron's  daughter,  which  ends 


THJi>  BEGGAR   AKI)    L'UE   POET.  213 

in  a  fever — a  declaration — an  intercliauge  of  vows 
— a  correspondence — and  three  yeara  of  hope,  dreams, 
despair  and  poetrj. 

Love  makes  the  poet — what  else  ? 

Thus,  Yenns,  daughter  of  the  sea,  watched  over  tlie 
destinies  of  her  sea-born  votary,  and  vowed  that  their 
common  father — Ocean — should  not  deprive  her 
temple  of  so  ardent  a  hierophant 

ISTevertheless,  Mondel  had  been  frequently  at  sea, 
and  was  not  only  a  voyager  of  the  deep,  but  was  well 
versed  in  all  the  mysteries  of  a  ship's  rigging  and 
management.  In  technical  parlance,  he  "  knew  the 
ropes,"  and  how  to  splice  them.  He  could  go  aloft, 
was  a  good  hand  at  steering,  and  possessed-  that 
rarest  quality  in  a  landsman,  a  perfect  theoretical  and 
practical  knowledge  of  the  science  of  navigation. 

As  he  had,  most  certainly,  never  spent  above  three 
or  fom-  months  of  his  life  on  shipboard,  his  acquisition 
of  the  above-mentioned  knowledge  was  a  mystery  to 
his  acquaintance.  But  Mondel  had  acquired,  in  fact, 
more  than  a  smattering  of  the  arts  and  sciences  of 
men.  Vast  and  shadowy  projects  had  -moved  like 
phantoms  in  the  abysses  of  his  all-grasping  soul.  It 
was  his  business  to  know  what  life  meant,  and  he 
know  it.  .•  •  ■■ 

He  stood  looking  at  the  water,  and  watching  the 
white  sails  of  the  vessels  as  they  glittered  in  the  rays 


214  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

of  the  setting  sun,  wlien  lie  suddenly  perceived  that 
a  man  was  watcliiug  liim  with  a  singular  interest. 
The  ragged  gambler — for  as  we  have  already  inti- 
mated, it  was  he  and  no  other — presently  approached 
the  poet,  and  said  bluntly,  yet  humbly : — 

"  Sir,  will  you  give  me  a  dollar  ?" 

"With  pleasure,"  said  Mondel,  inclining  his  body 
courteously  towards  the  strange  mendicant,  "  but  I 
have  not  a  dollar  in  my  pocket." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it !"  said  the  beggar  gravely. 

"  Your  sorrow  is  natural,"  said  Mondel,  "  praji 
accept  my  apologies  for  detaining  you,  but  I  musl 
first  get  change  for  a  half-eagle,  which  is  all  I  have 
about  me.  I  regret  that  I  cannot  spare  more  than  a 
dollar  at  the  moment,  or  you  should  have  it  all." 

"  Do  not  mention  it,"  said  the  mendicant,  rather 
puzzled  by  the  singular  humor  of  the  grave  gentle- 
man ;  "  a  dollar  is  all  I  want." 

"  Perhaps  you  would  not  mind  going  across  the 
road,  and  getting  change  ?  "  said  Mondel  quietly. 

The  beggar  looked  at  Mondel  with  an  intensity 
that  gave  a  wizard  air  to  his  marked  and  wrinkled 
visage. 

"  Are  you  joking  ? "  said  he,  half  angrily,  half 
admiringly. 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  said  Mondel ;  "  here  is  the 
piece  of  gold." 


THE  BEGGAR  AKD   THE  POET.  215 

"  I  will  return  directly,"  said  tlie  beggar.  "  You 
believe  that  I  shall  return  ? " 

"  I  am  too  poor  to  afford  to  lose  four  dollars,"  said 
Mondel ;  "  besides,  I  have  reasons  for  knowing  that 
you  will  return."     '  r 

"  Pray  what  are  they  ?" 

"  Your  language  is  good,  you  have  an  intelligent 
brow,  and  a  strong  frame.  You  arc  nearly  fifty, 
and" 

"  A  beggar,  and  in  rags,"  completed  the  mendi- 
cant coolly. 

"  Precisely."  '  . 

"Well,  sir?" 

'  Well,  sir,  you  must  be  either  stupidly  honest,  or 
you  are  a  rogue  who  has  sadly  neglected  his  oppor- 
tunities." 

"  Wait  till  I  return ;  and  we  will  speak  further, 
with  your  consent  sir,"  said  the  beggar. ' 

Mondel  waited  patiently. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour — ^half  an  hour — an  hour 
elapsed,  and  no  beggar  reappeared. 

The  great  physiognomist  looked  at  his  watch  every 
minute.  At  length  he  resolved  to  return  home,  ill 
satisfied  at  having  emptied  his  purse  in  order  to  try 
an  experiment  in  human  nature.  •• 

But  just  as  he  was  about  to  leave  the  park,  a  hand 
lightly  touched  his  ai-m 


216  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 

It  was  the  mendicant. 

"  I  thouglit  you  had  forgotten  me  ? "  said  Mondel. 

"  I  have  done  worse  ;  I  have  robbed  yon,"  said  the 
beggar. 

"  How  so  ?" 

"  I  have  lost  your  money." 

''Lost  a V 

"  I  have  gambled  it  away.  Oh  !  if  I  had  not  cop- 
pered on  the  queen !  Zounds  !  I  had  run  up  to  a 
hundred  and  sixty,  when  the  devil  possessed  me  to 
copper.     I'll  never  trust  to  a  presentiment  again !" 

"  I^or  I,"  said  Mondel. 

"You  despise  me;  you  regard  me  as  a  thief?" 
said  the  mendicant  gambler  despondently. 

"  I  do  not  despise  you.  As  for  your  being  a  thief, 
it  is  your  misfortune.  Most  men  are  thieves  when 
opportunity  offers  suitable  to  their  idiosyncrasies." 

"  You  do  not  then  wish  to  punish  me  for  stealing 
your  money  ?" 

"  ISTo  ; "  said  Mondel,  "  I  do  not  believe  in  punish- 
ment.    I  trusted  you,  it  was  my  own  weakness." 

"  Sir !"  said  the  beggar,  standing  erect,  and  con- 
fronting Mondel  with  the  air  of  one  Grand  Seigneur 
facing  another,  "  you  are  a  great  man  !  May  I  ask 
your  name !" 

"Dudley  Mondel." 

"  Mondel,  tlie  poet." 


•niE  BEGGAR   AND   THE    TOET.  217 

"  Some  critics  call  me  so." 

"  Are  you  rich,  or  poor  ?" 

"  Too  poor  to  continue  your  acquaintance  I  fear," 
said  Mondel,  puzzled  by  tlie  audacious  impudence  of 
the  beggar. 

"  Poet  Mondel,  you  are  a  millionaire !"  said  the 
beggar,  with  the  air  of  a  Jupiter,  looking  calmly  into 
the  eyes  of  his  victim.  » 

"  In  petto,"  said  Mondel,  "  though" — he  murmui-ed 
— "  if  my  ship  succeed" — 

"  Your  ship — ^you  have  a  shij)  ?"  cried  the  beggar. 

"  One  that  can  cut  water  like  a  sword-fish  ?"  replied 
Mondel,  still  wondering  what  his  curious  acquaint- 
ance was  driving  at. 

"  You  are  a  prince  !"  said  the  beggar — "  an  impe- 
rial prince  !" 

''Are  you  mad?"  said  Mondel,  looking  sternly  at 
the  beggar,  but  detecting  nothing  resembling  lunacy 
in  his  exaltation. 

"  Fools  say  so,"  replied  the  mendicant  scornfully. 
"  Hear  my  story,  and  judge  for  youi-self.  My  name 
is  Peter  Quartz.  I  am  a  gambler,  it  is  the  vice  of 
my  destiny.  For  twenty-seven  years  I  have  begged 
and  gambled  and  starved  in  rags  ?  Why  ?  Because 
I  knew  all  the  time  that  I  possessed  the  secret  of 
miboundcd  wealth.  For  twenty-seven  years  I  have 
dreamed  of  the  realization  of  my  power,  of  the  pos- 

10 


218  THE    SLAVE   OF   TIIE   LAMP. 

session  of  tlie  treasures  wliicli  I,  and  I  alone,  know 
to  exist  in  sncli  limitless  profusion.  For  twenty-, 
seven  years  I  have  gambled  daily  in  the  hope  of 
some  day  making  one  grand  hanl,  and  fitting  out 
the  enterprise,  which  has  been  the  vision  of  .my  life. 
Kever  have  I  communicated  to  a  human  being  the 
secret  which  has  been  my  curse.  To-day  I  have  met 
my  master.  When  I  gambled  away  your  money  I 
made  a  vow,  and  that  vow  was,  that  if  I  lost,  my 
secret  should  be  yours ;  it  shall — ^you  shall  loiow  it 
in  an  instant.  Listen :  latitude  A  B  longitude  X  Y ! 
There !  You  are  a  millionaire  of  millionaires,  a 
king  of  kings — the  Golden  Island  is  yours.  I  give 
it  to  you — 'to  you  and  to  your  heirs  for  ever !" 

Mondel  looked  steadily  at  the  ragged  enthusiast, 
and  saw  that  he  spoke  sincerely  and  sanely.  It  was 
given  to  the  man  of  genius  to  recognize  what,  to  the 
cunning  counterfeiter  and  the  shrewd  merchant  was 
denied.  What  is  the  knowledge  of  the  world  but 
the  knowledge  of  man's  nature  ?  For  the  first  time 
for  seven-and-twenty  years,  Peter  Quartz,  the  sup- 
posed lunatic  gambler  found  a  patient  listener  to  his 
extravagances. 


PETEK   QUAETZ.  219 


CHAPTER    XXn. 

PETEE   QirAETZ. 

"  TwENTY-SEViai  years'  ago,"  began  the  beggar, 
when  seated  after  supper  in  Mondel's  study,  "twenty' 
seven  years  ago,  a  ship  was  wTecked  one  dark  and 
stormy  night,  on  the  coast  of  a  small  island  in  the 
South  Pacific  Ocean.  In  that  ship  I,  Peter  Quartz, 
was  a  passenger.  The  captain  was  my  relative,  and 
some  minutes  before  the  ship  ran  on  the  rocks,  he 
happened  to  tell  me  the  latitude  and  longitude 
which,  as  I  was  very  tired  of  the  voyage,  and  very 
anxious  to  reach  port,  I  most  pai-ticularly  noticed  at 
the  time,  and  ever  afterwards  most  carefully  remem- 
bered. Indeed,  I  was  still  poring  over  the  ship's 
position  on  the  chart,  in  the  cabin,  when  we  felt  the 
ship  strilvQ.  A  few  houi-s  later  the  Arcjo  (that  was 
her  name)  went  to  pieces,  and  I  being  the  best 
swimmer  on  board,  though  no  sailor,  was,  so  far  as 
I  have  ever  been  able  to  ascertain,  the  only  one  on 
board  who  escaped. 

"Imagine  my  horror  on  discovering  with  the  light 


220  THE    SLAVE"  OK   TUE   LAMP. 

of  morning  tliat  tlie  island  was  one  vast  barren  rock 
rising  towards  a  crater  in  tlie  centre,  at  the  bottom 
of  which,  but  utterly  inaccessible  from  the  perpen- 
dicularity of  the  descent  was,  strange  to  say,  a  large 
lake  of  water.  There  was  not  a  vestige  of  animal 
or  vegetable  life  on  the  island,  which  was  altogether 
scarcely  two  miles  in  diameter.  But  my  horror  at 
this  discovery  was  soon  equalled  by  my  amazement 
and  temporary  delight  at  discovering  that  the  whole 
mineral  mass  was  impregnated  with  gold  to  a  degree 
never  known  in  any  mines  yet  discovered.  In  some 
places,  tons  and  tons  of  pure  gold  were  seen  in 
masses  streaking  the  less  brilliant  quartz,  and  glitter- 
ing in  the  sunshine,  whilst  huge  round  lumps  6f  the 
pure  metal,  as  if  dropped  molten  from  lofty  preci- 
pices, like  shot  from  the  summit  of  a  short  tower, 
were  to  be  picked  up  on  one  side  of  the  mountain  to 
an  extent  which  defied  all  computation.  I  myself 
saw  several  as  large  as  ordinary  melons.  But  my 
amazement  did  not  last  long.  I  reflected  that,  to  a 
man  on  a  desert  island,  gold  was  a  useless  commo- 
dity. There  being  neither  food,  shelter  nor  water 
attainable,  I  was  but  too  glad  to  take  the  first  chance 
of  escape  from  this  El  Dorado  of  horror  which 
offered  itself  The  wreck  had  entirely  disappeared. 
It  was  almost  a  dead  calm.  The  burning  sun  fell 
cruelly  on  my  uncovered  head,  when  I  suddenly 


rr.T;:n  quartz.  221 

* 

descried  a  dark  object  on  the  rocks  at  some  little 
distance  from  tlie. shore.  It  was  the  smallest  of  our 
boats.  I  succeeded  in  launching  it,  and  shipping 
some  stores  which  had  been  drifted  ashore  from  the  ' 
wreck,  I  eventually  put  to  sea  with  perhaps  five 
hundred  pounds  weight  of  gold  as  ballast.  A  strong 
breeze  sprang  up,  I  drifted  perhaps  a  thousand  miles 
to  the  eastward,  and  was  capsized  by  a  gust  of  wind 
within  two  hundred  yards  of  a  Spanish  brig  which 
picked  me  up  almost  starved  to  death,  and  master 
of  the  most  valuable  secret  in  the  world  ! 

Unfortunately,  my  mind  gave  way  from  the  physi- 
cal sufferings  I  had  undergone,  and  when  I  awoke  in 
the  seamen's  hospital  at  Valparaiso,  to  the  possession 
of  my  reason,  no  one  regarded  my  miserable  attempts 
to  express  in  Spanish  the  wonderful  discovery  I  had 
made.  A  Yankee  captain  shipped  me  as  a  gTcen- 
hand,  and  in  process  of  time  I  reached  Iseyv  Orleans. 
There  I  was  utterly  without  means,  and  fell  into  the 
most  deplorable  poverty.  In  vain  I  told  my  story  to 
hundreds  of  men.  All  shook  their  heads,  all  either 
believed  me  mad  or  monomaniac.  One  only  was 
tempted  to  try  the  adventure.  But  after  making 
some  preparations,  the  idea  struck  him,  that  I  might 
not  have  remembered  rightly  the  latitude  and  longi- 
tude. In  vain  I  offered  to  demonstrate  my  wonderful 
memory  for  figures,  and  declared  that  I  could  point  out 


222  T!!K    SLAVK    O'S    THE    LAMP. 

« 


on  the  chart  the  i3oint  which  mj  acute  sense  of  locality 
had  indelibly  impressed  upon  my  mii^d.  Besides,  I 
was  always  in  a  peculiar  dilemma.  If  I  described  the 
*  true  aspect  of  the  island,  it  was  treated  as  a  fairy  tale 
or  madman's  dream.  K  I  moderated  my  description, 
it  was  of  late  nothing  better  than  California  after  all. 
In  a  word,  for  twenty-seven  years,  I  have  vainly 
striven  to  find  a  man  to  believe  the  simple  story  of 
a  wrecked  man,  because  to  a  world  of  Mammon- 
worshippers  the  story  appears  toa  good  to  be  true,  as 
if  Kature  could  not  as  easily  lavish  gold  as  iron,  or 
any  other  nominally  less  valuable  substance !" 

"  Then  you  never  communicated  the  latitude  and 
longitude  to  any  one  ?"  said  Mondel. 

"ISTever,"  rep]^ed  the  gambler,  "though  I  have 
often  offered  to  do  so  for  the  merest  trifle,  say  a 
thousand  dollars  in  the  extremity  of  my  misery." 

"  Did  you  ever  try  Wall  street  ?"  said  Mondel, 
ironically. 

"  From  end  to  end.  Folly  and  meanness  !"  replied 
the  gambler  bitterly.  « 

"  Tes,  they  are  tolerably  blind.  They  can  neither 
tell  an  honest  man  from  a  knave,  nor  a  man  of  genius 
from  a  fool.  Yet,  they  have  built  my  ship,  and  paid 
for  my  engines !" 

"  How  did  you  persuade  them  ?" 

"By  humoring  their  pigmy  souls.     By  calling  a 


PETER   QUARTZ.  223 

grand  invention  a  modest  improvement.  By  talking 
of  a  revolution  in  machinery  as  a  sliglit  simplifica- 
tion. By  coming  down,  in  a  word,  to  tke  level  of 
their  vulgar  and  uncultivated  intelligences.  One 
Hobert  Lax  is  my  tool ;  Le  knows  nothing,  under- 
stands nothing,  and  obeys  my  will,  because  he  fancies 
that  he  outwits  and  patronizes  me.  Like  all  your 
men  who  grow  rich  by  trading  speculation,  he  has  a 
sort  of  cunning  which  is  almost  an  instinct  of  self- 
interest.  •  There  is,  however,  one  thing  that  his 
cunning  will  scarcely  teach  him  to  suspect ;  and  that* 
will  be  the  cruise  of  our  new  ship  to  this  isle  of  gold' 
which  you  report  of." 

"  And  you  believe  me  ?"  said  the  beggar  eagerly. 

«  Ko  !" 

"  You  doubt  my  word  ?" 

« ITo  !" 

"  AVhat  then  ?" 

"  I  doubt  your  sanity  and  memory.  I  am  a  skeptic, 
but  an  investigating  skeptic.     I  will  inrpiire." 

"Inquire?  Inquire  of  wliom^  Since  none  but 
myself  know  the  island's  existence  ?" 

"  That  is  my  afiair,"  said  Mondel.  "  Let  me  seo 
you  to-morrow.  Ilerc  is  money  for  present  neces- 
sities.    Good  night !" 

"  Good  night !  may  God  defend  you  from  doubting 
me  !"  said  the* ragged  gambler  piously. 


224  THE    SLAVE    OF   THE   LAMP. 

Mondel  ^ent  for  Mrs.  ISTormer. 

"  My  dear  madam,"  said  lie,  "  I  wisli  to  magnetize 
you  to-night." 

"  Ton  know  I  dislike  it." 

"  It  is  to  ascertain  a  fact  whicli  will  make  all  our 
fortunes." 

"  I  submit,  but  do  not  exhaust  me." 

Mrs.  ISTormer  was  a  remarkable  somnambulist. 
Her  presentiments  even  in  her  ordinary  state  were 
wonderfully  correct.  She  was  a  prophetess  if  ever 
'there  was  one,  and  in  a  state  of  clairvoyance,  her 
vision  w;as  transcendent.  Mondel  looked  steadily  at 
her,  made  a  few  pasfe,  smoothed  her  hair,  and 
murmured  in  a  gentle  but  imperious  tone  the  word 
"Sleep!"    . 

In  a  few  minutes,  the  eyes  of  the  somnambulist 
opened  with  that  glassy  look  peculiar  to  magnetized 
persons,  and  Mondel  put  his  all-important  question. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  somnambulist,  "  yes,  I  see  the 
island — it  is  gold,  all  gold — but,  in  the  centre,  there 
is". 


At  this  moment,  they  were  interrupted  by  the 
.arrival  of  Cope,  and  desj)ite  his  interest  in  the 
question  he  was  propounding,  Mondel's  thoughts 
were  so  distracted  by  the  idea  of  news  fi-om  Colum- 
bia, that  he  did  not  hear  the  remainder  of  the 
reply.    A  new  idea  struck  him — he  signed  to  Cope 


PETEE   QUAKtZ.  225 

to   excuse   him,   and   put,   in   a  low  voice,   a  new 
question  to  tlie  .somnamliulist. 

After  a  long  pause,  the  somnambulist  replied,  as  if 
with  a  great  efibrt,  her  brows  painfidly  contracted. 

"  She  loves  you  as  you  are,  and  hates  you  as  you 
seem."  • 

"  A  truly  Deli)hic  Oracle ;"  said  Cope,  smiling. 

"  I  see  hope  in  the  distance,"  said  Mondel, 
abstractedly. 

"  It  mast  be  beyond  the  horizon  then ;"  said  Cope, 
bluntly,  anxious  to  cure  his  friend  of  what  he  con- 
sidered a  fatal  monomania. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"     •  - 

"  I  saw  Miss  Columbia  this  morning.  I  spoke  of 
the  poem  you  published  last  week,  and  said  you  were 
looking  ill  of  late." 

"  And  she  ?'- 

"  Changed  the  subject  and  asked  me  if  I  had  been 
to  the  opera  lately  !" 

"The  devil!"  exclaimed  Mondel. 

"  Yes,  love  is  the  devil,  and  so  is  hate.  Believe 
me,  that  if  a  woman  dislikes  you,  it  is  a  law  of 
nature."  . 

"  But  I  fancied  once" 

"  Wc  all  have  fimcied" 


"Her  looks,  her  expression"— 
"Wo  must  judge  by  actions." 

■  10* 


226  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

"  Well,  well,"  sighed  tlie  love-sick  poet,  "  let  me 
release  my  clairvoyante,  and  we  will^go  out  and  get 
Bome  wine.  Wine !  ye  Gods !  Iiow  I  wish  I  conld 
drink  and  be  happy,  like  the" 

"  Human  swine  we  see  reeling  out  of  late  drinking 
salo*ons,  eh  ?"  said  Cope,  sarcastically. 

"Like  those  who  ca^ forget,"  saidMondel,  gloomily. 
"  But  for  men  like  myself,  there  is  no  oblivion,  save 
in  death's  '  coal  black  wine.' " 

"  I  always  hated  the  idea  of  a  black  draught,"  said 
Cope,  laughing. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Mondel,  "  what  do  you  say  to 
a  ci'uise  in  the  Pacific  ?*' 

"  As  first-cabin  passenger  I  should  not  mind,  for  I 
don't  believe  in  the  dignity  of  labor  a  bit.  I  once 
did  duty  as  a  cabin  boy,  so  I  think  I  know  what  sea 
life  is." 

"  You  shall  be  historiographer  of  the  expedition, 
like  Alexaiider  Dumas  on  the  Montpensier  journey  to 
Spain." 

"  Good  ;  that  will  suit  me,"  said  Cope,  "  when  do 
you  start  ?" 

• "  As  so.on  as  the  ship  is  ready." 

"  But  what  will  Robert  Lax  say  ?" 

"  -Kothing  ;  I  shall  not  ask  his  opinion." 

"  You  are  not  going  to  turn  pirate  ?"  said  Cope 
suspiciously,   for  since    his    misadventure    in    love, 


PETER   QUAETZf  227 

Mondel  was  terribly  reckless  in  liis  projects — at  least 
in  liis  conversation. 

«  Not  this  time." 

"  TVliat  is  the  object  then  ?" 

"  Gold." 

"  Tlien  I'm  with  you,  for  gold  is  a  substance  I  have 
seen  very  little  of  lately,  and  I'm  tired  of  making 
paper  money  out  of  ideas." 

How  cheerfully  Cope  uttered  these  last  words  !  If 
John  Berkeley  could  have  heard  them,  or  any  of  his 
fellow  rogues,  the  stock  brokers,  note  shavers,  railway 
scrip  forgers,  &c.,  how  strangely  the  suspicion  would 
have  crept  over  them  that  working  for  the  good  of 
mankind,  is  better  than  cheat^g  for  its  ill. 

O  ye  generation  of  bankers,  brokers  and  land- 
sharks  !  how  little  does  all  your  bogus  labor  weigh 
in  the  eyes  of  the  Spirits  of  the  Universe,  compared 
to  one  page  created  by  the  hand  of  the  poet,  one 
sketch  of  the  artist,  aye,  or  one  really  useful  pot  or 
pan,  garment  or  instrument,  which  the  hand  of  the 
workman  produces !  Tribe  of  locusts,  shuffling 
loafers  and  idlers  of  commercCj  incubi  on  humanity, 
devourers  of  industry,  is  not  John  Berkeley,  the 
altercr  and  counterfeiter,  yom*  true  culmination  and 
representative  ?  Answer  me  idle  and  non-producing 
tribes,  human  cyphera  !     Answer  me — and  ti'cmble. 


228  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 


CHAPTEE    XXIII. 

THE   SHIP    OF    MOKDEL. 

The  ship  was  ready  at  last. 

The  first  trial  trip  came  off  brilliantly.     Nothing 

could  exceed  the  amazement  of  the  New  Yorkers  at 

Deholding    a  vessel  without  saik,    without  smoke, 

without  paddle-wheels,  or  screw  propeller,  cutting 

through  the  water  at  a  rate  never  yet  attained  by  the 

fastest    ocean    steame^.      Yet  "Captain"    Mondel 

assured  the  gentlemen  of  the  press  who  came  on 

board  "  to  see  the  elephant,"  that  he  had  not  even 

attempted  to  put  the  vessel  to  her  full  speed.     But 

what  perplexed  and  amazed  every  one  was  the  news 

that  the  motive  power  was  mercury  not  vaporized— 

merely  warmed  into  life  as  it  were— quite  a  gentle 

process,  managed  without  a  particle  of  coal,  the  fuel 

being — could  you  believe  it  ? — gas  generated  on  board 

the  ves'sel  itself. 

%  -»  *  *  *  * 

The  reporting  gentlemen,  who,  to  dp  them  justice, 
are  a  most  intelligent  and  quickwitted  class  of  men, 
were  perfectly  satisfied  so  far. 


TiA:  snip  OF  mondel.  229 

"  But  how  do  jou  propel  your  yessel  ?"  tliey 
inquired. 

"By  water  pressure.  The  engine  in  fact  docs 
nothing  but  continually  raise  a  column  of  water, 
which  descends  and  escapes  continually  by  two  pipes 
under  the  stern  of  the  ship." 

"  Wliy  do  you  reject  sails  ?"  said  one  of  the  report- 
ers. 

"  Because  I  wish  to  spare  men  the  hardest  part  of 
a  sailor's  life — ^i-eefing  and  fm-ling.  Besides,  if  more 
speed  is  wanted,  why  not  use  more  powerful  engines  ? 
I  can  make  engines  three  times  as  powerful,  and  yet 
not  consume  one  more  particle  of  fuel.  Heat  is  not 
a  thing  to  be  measured  by  the  amount  of  combustion, 
but  by  subdivision  and  surface.  It  can -be  propa- 
gated almost  infinitely.  My  aim  is  to  save  labor,  to 
make  the  life  of  a  seaman  as  pleasant  as  another. 

"How  broad  in  the  beam  your  vessel  is!"   said 
another  visitor. 

"  It  is  little  more,"  said  Mondel,  "  than  an  oblong 
box  with  a  long  sharp  wedge-shaped  cutwater.  I  do 
not  yet  despair  of  setting  an  ark  afloat  which  .shall 
resemble  a  block  of  houses  with  an  engine  of  a  hun- 
dred thousand  hoi-sc-power  making,  a  twenty-four 
hours'  business  of  the  Atlantic  ferry." 
"  Really  captain,  you  jest?" 
"  Not  in  the  least.    The  true  plan  of  buikling  a 


230  THE  SLAVE  OF  TUB  LAMP. 

grand  ship  is  vertebrate.  Eacli  vertebra  is  a  square 
building  complete  in  itself.  A  number  of  these  are 
united  by  an  external  casing  and  keel,  and  all  that 
is  wanting  is  the  head-piece  and  the  cut-water.  On 
that  let  all  the  art  of  the  builder  be  expended,  and 
the  more  acute  the  angle  of  the  wedge  the  better. 
There  never  yet  was  built  a  ship  which  cut  the 
water  as  it  should." 

"  How  large  should  a  ship  then  be  to  cross  the 
Atlantic  according  to  your  taste,  sir?"  said  a  pert 
young  inquirer  from  a  AVall  street  paper. 

"  About  a  quarter  of  a  mile  long,  and  some  sixty 
to  seventy  yards  beam,"  answered  Mondel,  tran- 
quilly. 

"  By  the  way,  you  carry  guns  ?"  said  an  older 
visitor,  "  but  they  appear  to  be  only  for  show,  and 
look  more  like  printing  presses,  if  you  will  excuse 
the  remark." 

"  The  artillery  of  the  press  is  the  most  dangerous 
in  these  times,"  said  Mondel,  "  but  the  screw  and 
lever  which  you  see  are  for  the  ^purpose  of  loading 
these  air-cannon  (an  improvement  on  the  cannon  and 
imperfect  air-guns)  with  compressed  air,  which  here 
'supplies  the  place  of  powder,  l^either  are  they 
made  of  wood,  as  you  probably  imagine,  but  of  vul- 
canized India  rut)ber,  a  substance  both  lighter  and 
cheaper  than  iron." 


THE   SnrP   OF   MONDEL.  231 

"  Have  you  any  otlier  innovations  on  board  ?" 

"  A  few.  For  example,  an  electric  liglit  at  the 
head  of  the  vessel,  gas  laid  on  in  every  cabin,  gas 
cooking  apparatus,  and  some  interesting  experiments 
in  preserved  provisions,  which  I  am  trying  for  the 
benefit  of  poor  Jack,  who,  in  an  age  of  progress 
might,  I  think,  get  something  more  palatable  and 
liealthy  than  salt  junk,  bean  soup,  or  'plum  duff' 
and  hard  biscuit!" 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  elderly  reporter,  "  I  wish' 
you  success,  and  all  men  like  you !" 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Mondel,  "  I  hope  you  will  do 
me  the  honor  of  dining  on  board — Ah,  Mr,  Lax,  you 
have  arrived  just  in  time.  You  dine  with  us,  of 
course  (aside),  these  are  gentlemen  connected  with 
the  leading  newspapers." 

"  Then  don't  spare  the  champagne,"  said  Lax,  "  1 
should  like  to  see  the  ship  well  noticed.  By  the 
by,  when  do  you  propose  to  try  the  trip  to 
Havana  ?" 

"  Next  week ;  the  stores  arc  coming  on  board 
already." 

Eobert  Lax  rubbed  his  hands,  and  eyed  Mondel 
complacently.  He  regarded  that  inventor  as  a 
species  of  property  which  he  had  had  the  dexterity 
to  appropriate. 

Meanwhile,  the  devil  of  wild  adventure  and  dark 


232  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 

■I 

projects  stirred  witliin  the  heart  of  the  triumphant 
but  unhappy  man  of  genius. 

Oh,  how  willingly  would  he  have  given  his  shij),  his 
fame,  his  coming  wealth,  golden  island  and  all,  for 
one  line  from  the  blonde  Columbia,  bidding  him 
return  to  her  feet,  and  once' more  tell  her  that  he 
loved  her  better  than  the  world  ! 

But  it  was  not  to  be. 

He  made  one  desperate  attempt — in  defiance  of 
all  etiquette  and  propriety.  He  saw  her  carriage 
standing  at  a  shop-door.  She  was  alone  waiting  for 
Mrs.  Tonkers.  He  advanced  to  the  step  of  the  car- 
riage. 

"Miss  Columbia,"  he  said,  in  a  deep  passionate 
tone,  "  I  am  going  on  a  long  and  perilous  voyage. 
To  you  alone,  I  confide  the.  secret.  Before  I  go,  I 
ask  you  to  say  in  what  I  have  offended  ?  I  love  you 
still,  I  adore  you,  I  shall  love  you  till  death.  For 
your  sake  I  have  renoimced  all  other  hope.  For 
your  sake  I  am  a  lonely,  sad  and  miserable  man — a 
monk  without  a  cowl,  a  hennit  of  the  sea  and  of  the 
land.  D.ear,  dear,  dearest  Miss  Columbia !  one 
parting  word,  one  look  of  pity !"  • 

But  Columbia,  though  torn  with  anguish  at  the 
beloved  voice,  though  trembling  with  agitation, 
remained  silent,  and  looked  another  way  till  Mondel, 
in  despair,  withdrew  to  let  Mrs.  Yonkers  enter  the 


THE    SHIP   OF   MONDEL.  233 


cf&rriage.  lie  exclianged  witL.  Amelia  a  look  of 
terrible  scorn  on  liis  part,  of  mingled  love  and  liate 
on  hers,  and  the  carriage  was  whirled  away. 

On  the  following  daj  the  Columbia — Mondel  had, 
unsuspected*  by  Eobert  Lax — given  the  national 
name  of  his  adored  girl  to  the  vessel — started  on  its 
voyage  to  Havana. 

But  Mondel  had  made  his  preparations  and  laid  in 
his  stores,  and  it  was  not  long  before  he  aimounced, 
as  if  opening  sealed  orders,  to  his  crew,  what  a  very 
different  destination  he  had  in  view. 

But  of  the  ship  and  those  in  it  and  their  adven- 
tures we- shall  ere  long  have  occasion  to  speak. 

For  the  present,  let  us  revert  to  the  living  Colum- 
bia and  her  destinies. 


234  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 


CHAPTEE     XXIY. 

THE      FAEEWELL     P  K'E  S  E  N  T  . 

The  very  day  after  Mondel's  departure — as  was 
generally  supposed  for  Cuba— in  reality  for  the 
golden  island  of  tlie  Pacific — ^a  lady  called  upon 
Columbia,  and  delivered  into  lier  hands  a  sealed 
packet. 

That  lady  was  Mrs.  J^ormer. 

"From  whom  is  this  packet,  madam?"  said 
Columbia. 

"  From  Mr.  Mondel.  He  requested  me  to  give  it 
to  you,  and  to  no  other,  myself,  as  he  might  possibly 
never  retijrn  to  the  United  States." 

"  You  knew  Mr.  Mondel  well?" 

"  Intimately." 

"  And  his  wife?  did  you  ever  see  Mrs.  Mondel?" 

"  Never,  and  for  the  best  of  all  possible,  reasons, 
he  never  was  married." 

"Not  married  and  divorced?" 

"Never  married,  therefore  most  certainly  never 
divorced.  Ah,  my  dear  young  lady,  excuse  me  for 
saying  it,  you  do  not  know  what  you  have  lost." 


THE   FAEEWELL   TRESENT.  235 

"  What  do  you  mean,  madam  ?" 

"  I  mean  that  no  woman  was  ever  loved  with  a 
deeper  and  tr.ner  devotion  than  were  you  by  Dudley 
Mondel.  He  is  the  proudest  man  I  ever  knew,  yet 
he  wept  like  a  child  when  he  gave  me  this  packet  to 
give  to  you." 

"  Favor  me,  madam,  with  your  name  and  address," 
said  Columbia,  trembling  with  agitation,  "I  will  do 
myself  the  pleasure  of  calling  upon  you." 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  see  you  at  any  time,"  said 
Mrs.  ISTormer,  with  a  look  of  pity  and  penetration. 
"  Good  day."  .     •• 

"Good  day,  madam." 

Columbia  hastened  to  her  own  room.  She  tore 
open  the  packet.  It  contained  Mondel's  Memoirs, 
and  a  letter  written  in  an  almost  illegible  hand,  in 
which,  with  the  utmost  consideration  for  Mrs.  Yon- 
kers,  he   explained  to  Columbia  his  exact  position 

with  respect  to  her  stepmother : 

<■■ 
'•  She  is  innocent,"  ho  said,  "  of  all  blame.    The  caprices  of  passion 

are  the  fiats  of  destiny.  "Wlien  I  think  how,  at  length,  I  despised  her, 
how  I  haled  her,  when  one  night  she  unexpectedly  kissed  me  at  part- 
ing, at  the  very  door  of  your  bouse,  I  slmdder  to  ifiiagine  that,  per- 
haps, your  feelings  towards  myself  are  equally  contradictory.  But  a 
secret  instinct  tells  me,  that  this  woman  has  been  the  cause  of  your 
hatred  for  me.  It  may  be  an  act  of  meanness,  it  may  show  want  of 
generosity,  but  in  the  abyss  of  my  own  misery,  I  feel  no  pity  for  a 
woman  who  could  show  so  little  pride  as  first  to  wed  a  man  she  did 


236  THE   8LAYE   OF  THE  LAMP. 

not  love,  for  self-interest,  and  then  to  torment  a  man  who  could  not 
love  her.  But  I  forget  my  fatalism.  All  now  is  at  an  end.  I  go,  and 
many,  many  long  months  must  elapse  before  my  return.  Yet,  if  you 
could  relent,  if  there  were  a  possibility  of  clearing  up  some  horrible 
mysteiy  which  has  overshadowed  and  darkened  our  lives,  bear  in 
mind  that  I,  at  least,  am  fixed  and  immutable  in  my  faith,  and  that 
that  faith,  whilst  Dudley  Mondel  breathes  and  lives  is,  and  can  only 
be — Columbia. 

,  "  In  you,"  continued  Mondel  in  his  letter,  "  I  have  at  length 
beheld  the  visioned  queen  of  my  most  exaggerated  dreams  of  beauty 
and  intelligence.  I  wish  you  to  know  me  as  I  am  and  have  been, 
not  as  a  mere  fragment  of  a  life.  We  live,  0  beautiful  and  enlight- 
ened Columbia,  in  a  world  of  cant.  We  are  indoctrinated  from  our 
cradles  with  absurd  prejudices,  the  result  of  ages  of  ignorance.  We 
are  taught  to  call  one  thing  virtue,  and  another  vice,  to  trust  utterly 
to  the  teachings  fropi  without,  and  to  silence  ever  the  voices  from 
within.  The  highest  source  of  happiness.  Love,  is  surrounded  by 
restrictions,  calculated  to  engender  baseness  and  crime.  The  com- 
monest necessities  of  existence  are  rendered  unattainable  to  vast 
multitudes  of  mankind.  Our  sympathies  are  narrowed  by  selfish 
fears,  our  intellects  cramped  by  pompous  repetitions  of  antique 
fallacies.    Our  whole  lives  are  poisoned  by  conventional  delusions ! 

"  Against  this  world  and  its  civilization,  I  am,  and  have  been, 

^  a  rebel.    In  the  accompanying  memoirs  I  have  spoken,  like  Jean 

Jacques  Eousseau,  what  I  believed  to  be  the  language  of  absolute 

truth,  without  false  modesty  on  the  one  hand  or  false  shame  on  the 

other. 

'•  Pucad,  fair  Columbia,  and  learn  to  know  the  man  who  had  the 
presumption  to  offer  you  his  love.  Yours  till  death, 

"  M«NDEL." 

« 

•  "Witli  fingers  actually  quivering  -with  emotion,  the 
blonde'poetess,  liaving  first  bolted  ber  door,  to  prevent 


THE  FAEEWELL   PliESENT.  237 

Mrs.  Yonkers  from  surprising  lier,  pushed  Lack  the 
damp  silken  hair  that  clung  to  her  white  temples,  and 
commenced  the  j)erusal  of  a  manuscript  which  bore 
♦     for  a  heading  the  ominous  title : — 

A   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 

But  it  was  no  Arabian  Xight's  Entertainment,  no 
story  of  Aladdin  and  his  genii,  which  awaited  her 
perusal. 

Header,  we  have  had  short  chapters  lately ;  pre- 
pare yourself  for  a  long  one. 


238  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 


CHAPTER    XXV, 


MEMOIRS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEl's  YOUTH. 


My  history  is  of  all  histories  the  saddest.  It  is  the 
history  of  the  soul  wrestling  with  Destiny. 

I  may  die  crowned  with  the  wreath  of  victory,  but 
the  wreath  of  victory  is  also  the  wreath  of  martyr- 
dom.    I  have  lived,  and  suffered. 

I  have  heen  preeminently  a  reasonable  and  rea- 
soning being,  yet  have  apparently  committed  the 
greatest  follies.  ^ 

I  have  been  so  scrupulously  moral  that  I  have  even 
been  accused  of  crimes. 

By  morality  I  understand  acting  in  harmony  with- 
l^ature's  truth,  and  the  soul's  highest  conceptions  of 
life ! 

I  have  been  a  refined  voluj)tuary,  yet  my  cravings 
for  enjoyment  have  been  frustrated  and  counter- 
acted. . 

Seemingly  predestined  by  my  physical  organization 
to  be  a  man  of  action,  I  have  been  for  the  most  part 
constrained  to  live  the  life  of  a  student.     My  exis- 


MEilOIKS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.  239 

tence  lias  been  a  tormenting  contradiction.  Filled 
with  a  superabundance  of  vitality,  I  liave  sat  face  to 
face  with  death  during  the  best  years  of  life. 

A  natural  orator,  and  even  an  improvisatore,  I 
have  brooded  in  almost  unbroken  silence.  A  born 
philosopher  and  statesman,  I  have  scarcely  attracted 
attention  except  as  a  poet  and  a  humorist.  Abound- 
ing in  social  sympathies,  I  have  lived  for  years 
together  in  solitude  and  retirement. 

In  vain  have  I,  from  "time  to  time,  striven  by  a 
desperate  effort,  to  burst  the  iron  chain  which  bound 
me  to  the  pen. 

I  have  been  offered  military  commands,  I  have 
been  placed  at  the  head  of  a  commercial  enterprise. 
I  have  been  made  editor  of  journals,  elected  grand 
master  of  political  societies,  and  I  have,  at  various 
jDcriods,  studied  no  less  than  three  regular  professions. 

But  the  world  was  against  me.  The  voice  of 
ixY&nt  Fates  murmured  imperiously — 

"  Think,  and  wlien  weaiy  of  thinldng,  write ! 
Write,  and  when  weary  of  writing,  think  !  " 

Walls — nay  ramparts  of  books  seemed  to  grow  up 
arouncT  me,  hem  me  in,  and  imprison"  me.  Like  a 
huge  rat  in  a  cage,  I  gnawed  myself  a  breach,  by 
devouring  all  before  me,  and  lo  !  new  ramparts  arose, 
and  the  task  was  still  to  be  recommenced.  So  I 
wrote  and  read,  and  read  and  wrote,  till  I  bocamo  in 


240  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP.  ' 

the  bloom  of  yoiitli  a  man  witliout  an  age.  I  had 
analyzed  all  things,  and  there  remained  nothing — 
nothing  but  primitive  elements — the  elements  of  a 
skepticism  dark  and  all-embracing,  in  the  shadow  of 
which  the  pride  and  power  and  aims  of  men  withered 
and  became  colorless.  For  to  me  all  things  were 
alike.  A  dismal  sameness  overspread  the  world  of 
mortals.  I  knew  too  much,  and  felt  too  little  to  share 
their  illusions,  though,  alas  !  illusions  are  but  illusions 
when  we  recognize  them  to  be^  so.  The  soul  gives 
its  hue  to  nature,  and  the  reflection  of  mine  became 
a  neutral  tint — ^^a  sad  color  not  far  removed  from  that 
"darkness  visible,"  which  the  Inferno  of  Milton 
rejoiced  in. 

I  was  the  last  man  of  the  old  world  with  a  great 
purpose  and  a  great  heart ;  and  the  old  world  could 
not  comprehend  me. 

Possibly  it  was  fortunate  that  a  link  also  bound  mo 
to  the  new  world. 

Old  England  is  dead.  Its  supremacy  is  a  legend  ^ 
of  the  past.  Ere  long  it  will  be  no  more  to  America 
than  was  Troy  of  old  to  Rome.  It  is  a  grand  fable 
that  of  the  gods  who  dethrone  their  fathers.*  Such 
gods  are  the  genii  of  nations.  Old  age  brings  decay, 
and  vigorous  youth  springs  up  to  manhood  and 
empire..  Britannia  is  a  decrepit  hag — a  step-mother 
who  starves  her  children.     What  ihore  can  I  say  ? 


MEMOIRS   OF  DUDLEY   MONDEL.  241 

Regard  the  modern  poets  of  England ! 

Let  tlieir  feeble  versicles  serve  to  demonstrate  the 
justice  of  my  disdain.  Life  is  a  riddle  to  them,  hero- 
ism a  forgotten  dream,  invention — unknown,  beauty 
the  ornamental.  Sublimity,  egotistic  bombast; 
art,  a  caprice,  love  a  mixture  of  vanity  and  sensual- 
ism ! — in  a  word,  they  are  weak,  they  ai'e  ridicu- 
lous ! 

They  have  neither  the  personal  greatness,  the  lofti- 
ness of  idea,  nor  the  executive  power  of  true  poets. 

Their  verses  limp.  They  resort  to  poetical  licenses, 
to  antiquated  words,  to  the  forced  pronunciations  of 
words  ending  in  ed^  and  I  know  not  what  paltry  puer- 
ihties,  imitated,  indeed,  from  the  great  old  masters, 
but  no  longer  justified  by  the  advanced  state  of  the 
noble  and  marvellously  combined  language  of  our 
supreme  Scandinivian  race. 

But  why  call  them  poets — that  is  creators  ?  They 
wrote  nothing.  Shukspere  created  a  world  of  liviug 
characters,  as  did  Homer  before  him.  iEschylus, 
Dante,  Miltou,  Goethe,  Bjrou,  Lamarthie,  impressed 
the  world  with  the  intense  grandeur  of  their  intelh- 
gence  and  god-like  personalities. 

What  have  Tennyson  and  his  sequent  lotus-eaters 
accomplished  ? 

Kothiug,  literally  nothing !  their  woi"fIs  are  like 
the  summer's  breeze  that  leaves  no  trace  of  its  pas- 

11 


24:2  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE  LAMP. 

sage.  To  seek  enjoyment  in  tlieir  pages  is  to  smoke 
light  cigars,  not  to  quaff  the  nectar  of  tHe  gods ;  it 
is  literally  to  kill  time.  Tkey  have  founded  a  school, 
they  have  not  created  an  image. 

If  England  have  a  poet,  he  is  Charles  Dickens. 
Se  has  created  forms  and  fancies  that  will  live,  and 
he  alone  of  his  generation. 

But  the  glorious  majesty  of  harmonious  numhers 
is  wanting.  The  measured  cadence  of  his  easy  prose 
but  ill  supplies  the  magic  of  the  lyre.  It  is  Shak- 
'spere  without  his  laurels,  Homer  without  his  gods. 
England  can  never  again  produce  a  real  poet.  A 
nation  of  paupers  can  no  longer  respond  to  the  celes- 
tial vibrations  of  enthusiasm,  of  national  sympathy, 
or  national  glory.  It  is  in  America  that  the  poet 
must  arise  and  sing  such  songs  as  never  yet  were 

sung — ^the  songs  of  hope  and  enterprise. 

*  -X-  *  %  *  * 

Long  before  I  was  bom,  a  profound  philosopher 
might  have  predicted  the  stormy  destiny  prepared 
for  me. 

Hy  father  and  mother  were  eminently  unsuited  to 
one  another  in  disposition.  The  theory  of  contrasts 
harmonizing  in  marriage  is  an  insane  delusion.  My 
father  and  mother  were  as  opposite  in  nature  as  two 
people  could  well  be,  and  yet  find  any  points  of 
harmony. 


MEMOms   OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.  243 

My  father  was  dark,  haughty,  vain,  irascible,  and 
though  capable   of  liberality,  naturally  selfish   and 
sensual.     He  was  tall,  handsome  and  agreeable,  even 
cordial  in  manner.     His  mind  was  strong  in  will,  but 
limited  in  grasp.     His  intellect  was  practical,  but 
not  expansive,  tenacious  without   being   absorbent. 
Brought  up  in  English  High  Church  and  Ultra-Tory 
princi2)les,  he  was  a  bigot  in  religion  and  a  partisan 
in  politics.     His   gi-eat  talisman  was  obedience,  dis- 
ciphne,  order.     His  whole  moral  strength  lay  in  his 
exactness.     His  sense  of  justice  was  comparatively 
strong,  his  benevolence  limited  by  his  caution  and 
suspicion.      He   ought  to  have  entered  the   army. 
He   would    have    made    an    admirable    colonel  of 
cavalry,  if  not  a  great  general.     He  had  no  physical 
fear  so  far  as  I  could  ever  observe.     His  moral,  at 
least  his  intellectual,  timidity  was  excessive.     He  was 
easily  imposed  on  by  the  assumption  of  a  man  his 
superior   in   one    particular    branch  of    knowledge. 
His  amatory  aifections  were  powerful,  but  he  was  a 
natural  tyrant,  and  required  in  a  wife  a  submissive 
inferior,  not  an  equal  companion. 

It  was  his  misfortune  to  marrv  a  M'omau  iramea- 
surably  his  supe'rior  in  intelligence. 

My  motlier  was  a  fair  beauty,  tall,  delicate,  blue- 
eyed,  gentle,  and  imaginative.  She  had  a  far 
greater  talent  for  painting  than  my  father,  who  also 


244r  THE   SLAVE   OF   TIFE   LAMP.     ' 

cultivated  the  arts;  slie  wrote  poetry,  whilst  my 
father  could  scarcely  compass  metre.  She  had  been 
accustomed,  at  *  *  House,  her  father's  (the 
American  Minister's)  residence  in  London,  to  meet 
many  of  the  most  illustrious  men  of  the  age,  includ- 
ing most  of  the  famous  writers  and  artists  of  the  past 

generation.     Sir  W.  S.,  the  great  Sir  "W". !  was 

her  friend,  and  with  his  own  hand  inscribed  her 
name  in  many  of  his  books.  H n,  the  unfortu- 
nate H ^n,  was  her  drawing-master.     The  present 

Sir  E.  L.  was  a  constant  visiter  at  the  House.  There, 
too,  she  saw  Spurzheim,.  the  famous  phrenologist, 
Theodore  Hook,  the  wit,  and  numerous  other  celebri- 
'ties,  now  for  the  most  part  vanished  from  this  earth's 
surface.' 

Her  father  was  opposed  to  the  marriage.  As  a 
philosopher  and  an  accomplished  man  of  the  world, 
he  probably  foresaw  the  inevitable  discord  which 
must  spring  up  sooner  or  later  between  two  such 
characters.  He  even  left  town  to  avoid  being  pre- 
sent at  the  marriage,  though  he  would  not  oppose  his 
daughter's  wishes.  They  were  married.  I  have 
heard  my  father  say  that  they  exchanged  impatient 
words  in  the  very  post-chaise  which,  according  to 
established  precedent,  whirled  them  away  to  the 
retirement  of  the  honeymoon.    - 

Storms  soon  lowered. 


MEMOIRS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         245 

The  young  couple  differed  in  religion.  My  futlier 
■was  a  bigoted  clmrchman,  my  mother  a  free-thinker 
and  republican,  like  Jier  father.  Still,  I  fancy,  they 
tried  their  best  to  agree.  But  it  is  an  old  saying, 
that  fire  and  water  will  not  mingle.  My  parents 
■were  on  the  verge  of  separation  before  they  had  been 
married  many  years,  ■whilst  I  was  a  mere  baby. 
However,  friends  of  the  family  interfered,  and 
effected  a  reconciliation,  and — things  went  on  as  dis- 
cordantly as  ever. 

Why  is  the  world  so  stupid  as  not  to  see  that  the 
moment  a  married  couple  cease  to  be  happy,  should 
be  the  moment  of  their  separation?  Why  is  mar- 
riage, which  should  be  a  union  for  the  noblest 
delights,  converted  into  an  ignoble  slavery  and 
punishment ! 

To  throw  any  obstacles,  even  the  slightest,  in  the 
•way  of. divorce  by  mutual  consent,  is  a  monstrous 
absurdity.  Marriage  should  cordially  be  a  simple 
contract  between  two  parties.  To  make  it  more  is 
an  invention  of  fiendlike  cruelty.  Eeason,  where 
divested  of  religious  prejudice,  must  recognize  the 
same  absolute  freedom  in  relation  of  the  sexes,  as  in 
those  of  commerce  or  friendship.  Tliere  is  but  one 
law  that  should  ever  bind  two  human  beings  together 
— the  law  of  love.  To  apply  brute  force  (that  is 
legal  restraint  or  penalty)  to  the  regulation  of  tlio 


/ 


246  THE   SLA\TE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

spontaneous  passions  of  our  nature,  is  a  miserable 
remnant  of  barbarism. 

Let  those  who  love  be  united,  let  those  who  hate 
be  parted.  All  other  systems  are  the  insanities  of 
diseased  minds,  superstitions  of  an  ignorant  age  past. 

Imagine  two  young  married  couples,  equally  ill 
assorted  and  wretched,  placed  upon  an  island,  disco- 
vering that  by  a  simple  exchange  of  partners,  they 
can  convert  a  social  hell  into  a  paradise.  What  are 
they  to  do  ?  Endure  the  torments  of  love  on  the  one 
liand,  and  disgust  on  the  other,  in  conformity  with 
the  laws  of  Man,  or  embrace  happiness  and  a  new 
life  in  conformity  with  the  laws  of  l^ature  ? 

My  earliest  recollections  are  of  frolicking  with  my 
little  sister,  a  beautiful  fairy-like  child,  in  a  large 
drawing-room,  whilst  my  mother  played  a  series  of 
pieces  on  the  piano.  The  intoxication  of  music — the 
only  intoxication,  save  that  of  love,  which,  in  my  opi- 
nion, is  worthy  of  a  poet — filled  my  mind  with  the 
wildest  fancies  and  illusions.  Never,  never  shall  I 
forget  my  mother's  sweet  soft  voice,  and  clear  intelli- 
gible expression,  when  she  conversed  by  the  hour 
with  her  children^-her  only  companions.  Although 
neglected  and  abandoned  by  her  husband,  she  never 
breathed  to  us  a  syllable  concerning  our  father,  save 
of  love  and  duty.  Her  imagination  was  vivid,  her 
appreciation  of  genius  intense,  but  her  life  was  a 


MEMOIES  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.    '     247 

desert.  The  society  slie  would  have  enjoyed  was 
driven  by  my  father's  strange  eccentricity  and  vain 
pride  from  their  house.  He  unconsciously  loved  the 
society  of  inferiors,  and  was  captivated  by  the  adula- 
tion and  flattery  of  parasites,  paid  rather  to  his  wealth 
than  to  his  talent.  The  death  of  his  father,  in  my 
seventh  year,  had  left  him  rich  and  independent; 
though  I  have  always  suspected  that  he  diminished 
his  fortune  by  vast  speculations  in  stocks,  or  possibly 
by  downright  gambling.  He  was  very  secretive,  and 
even  in  after  years,  vague  in  his  confidences.  To  this 
day  I  know  little  of  the  history  of  his  affairs. 

I  was  born  on  the  sea,  during  the  return  of  my 
father  and  mother  from  America,  which  they  visited 
shortly  after  their  mamage. 

My  childish  life  was  passed  in  a  sort  of  dream. 
From  the  plays  I  saw  at  the  theati*es,  and  the  books, 
which  at  an  unusually  early  age,  I  devoured  with  a 
bmning  avidity,  I  constructed  within  my  soul  an 
imaginary  world  of  knights,  enchantei"s,  kings,  prin- 
cesses, ghosts,  demons,  bandits,  and  wild  beasts ; 
dragons,  griffins,  and  chimeras.  In  this  fantasmal 
world,  my  Httlo  sister  and  myself  passed  our  lives. 
"We  acted  a  never-ending  succession  of  improviso 
dramas,  robing  ourselves  fantastically  in  colored 
shawls  and  draperies,  fighting  feigned  battles  with 
wooden  swords  and  spears,  and  utterly  indiflerent  to 


248  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

the  commonplace  lives  and  games 'of  other  children 
whom  we  visited,  or  who  visited  at  our  house. 

This  exaggeration  of  the  imaginative  faculty  at 
one  time  began  to  take  in  me  the  form  of  mental 
disease,  and  in  broad  daylight  hideous  spectres 
began  to  appear  to  me  with  all  the  distinctness  of 
actual  forms.  An  insane  horror  of  darkness,  and  of 
the  invisible  world  of  mystery,  possessed  me  to  such 
a  degree,  that  I  wonder  I  did  not  die  in  some  of  the 
agonies  of  fear  which  I  endm-ed.  It  seems  to  me 
that  I  thus  exhausted  all  my  power  of  feeling 
terror,  for,  in  after  life,  I  observed  in  myself  an  indif- 
ference to  physical  danger,  and  even  to  death  itself, 
which  I  have  never  seen  so  coldly  and  completely 
developed  in  any  other  man.  I  have  often  laughed 
in  after  years  at  the  trouble  people  have  taken  to 
impress  me  with  the  idea  of  some  personal  peril.  To 
risk  my  life  in  a  chance  has  become  with  me  a  habit. 
I  am  a  sort  of  fatalist ;  I  feel  that  when  a  man's  hour 
comes,  it  comes.  Life  is  but  a  page  in  the  book  of 
time,  death  but  turning  over  a  new  leaf  in  the  diary 
of  eternity. 

My  recollections  of  actual  events  in  my  early  child- 
hood are  somewhat  obscure.  A  few  brighter  points 
start  up  here  and  there.  I  remember  a  visit,  when  I 
was,  perhaps,  five  or  six  years  of  age,  to  my  grand- 
father's country-seat,  Lakeland  House.    There  was  a 


MEMOIRS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         249 

lake  of  some  twenty  acres  on  the  estate,  and  boats 
upon  it ;  and  seven  little  islands,  whicli  were  named 
after  my  aunts  and  uncles.  Tlie  liouse  was  modern, 
and  the  most  attractive  objects  in  it,  to  me,  were  the 
skins  of  some  badgers,  bears  and  foxes,  which  served 
as  mats  and  which  I  coveted  hugely.  A  quantity  of 
Indian  weapons,  which  an  adventurous  uncle  had 
brought  back  from  the  South  Seas,  were  also  objects 
of  interest,  as  were  two  suits  of  armor  and  a  great 
cross-handled  sword,  with  which  I  had  a  confused 
notfon  that  my  grandfather  had  fought  under  Richard 
Cceur-de-Lion,  in  the  third  crusade.  At  that  time 
my  notions  of  dates  were  confused,  and  I  had  been 
reading  Sir  "Walter  Scott's  Talisman  with  the  perfect 
faith  of  childhood,  so  much  so,  that  I  dreamed  of 
being  ivanhoe  and  fighting  Bois  du  Guiibert  nightly. 

It  seems  to  me,  that  at  that  time,  my  grandfather 
was  always  talking  about  his  plantations  and  improve- 
ments, and  driving  people  about  in  a  poney-chaise  to 
admire  his  doings.  I  remember  also,  having  a  con- 
fused notion  that  some  day  or  other  I  was  to  be 
created  Lord  Lakeland,  and  become  a  tremendously 
rich  and  important  man.  Dimly  so,  methinks,  I  once 
heard  my  excellent  grandmother  impressively  say  to 
her  daughter — 

"  Make  the  dear  boy  a  clergyman," 

And  I,  in  utter  disdain  of  that,  in  England,  most 

11* 


250  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP.  ^' 

respectable  and  aristocratic  profession,  ran  up  to  my 
mother  and  growled  petulantly — 

"I  won't  be  a  parson,  ma',  I'll  be  a  soldier.  I  won't 
wear  a  long  gown  like  a  woman,  I  hate  it,  I  do." 

"  Hush !  hush !  you  naughty  boy !"  said  my  grand- 
mother, indulgently. 

But  they  could  not  make  a  parson  of  we,  I  felt 
sure  of  that,  so  they  might  talk  till  they  were  tired. 
I  should  be  a  soldier,  or  more  probably  a  knight 
eiTant — like  Don  Quixote,  that  glorious  hero  of  La 
Mancha,  whose  acquaintance  I  was  just  beginning  to 
make  in  a  splendid  illustrated  edition  in  the  library. 

Of  all  books  which  I  ever  read.  Homer's  Iliad,  in 
Pope's  translation,  made  the  greatest  and  most 
deeply  enduring  imj)ression  on  my  mind,  I  read  it 
at  eight  years  of  age,  in  an  old  large  printed  edition, 
strongly  bound  in  worn  calf,  with  plenty  of  gilding, 
red  marble  edges,  and  engravings  which,  to  me,  at 
the  time,  were  marvels  of  art. 

I  remember  my  father  tearing  out  the  pictm'e 
wliich  represented  Mars  and  Yenus  under  the  net  of 
Vulcan  in  a  state  of  considerable  deshabille.  I  pre- 
sume now  that  he  thought  it  might  suggest  evil 
thoughts  to  my  youthful  mind.  Then  I  simply 
regretted  any  damage  to  my  dear,  dear  book.  Oh, 
how  I  read  that  Iliad!  I  knew  the  names  of  aU 
the  Greek  and  Trojan  wamors,  even  to  the  third-rate  • 


MEMOIRS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         251 

fellows  wlio  were  barelj  worth  the  killing  ;  Acliilles, 
Petrocles,  Agamemnon,  Ajax,  Ulysses,  Menelaus, 
Tjdides,  Hector,  ^neas,  Sarpedon,  Paris,  were  all  to 
me  as  real,  nay,  mucli  more  real  than  Mr.  This  or 
Tliat,  who  actually  were  visitors  at  the  house. 

If  there  was  one  thing  I  theoretically  delighted  in, 
it  was  fighting. 

I  formed  in  my  mind  a  sort  of  thermometer  of  the 
valor  and  prowess  of  the  Greek  and  Trojan  leaders, 
and  got  up,  in  the  arena  of  my  martial  fancy,  a 
series  of  imaginary  single  combats  between  warriors 
who,  in  the  Hiad  itself,  never  had  an  opportunity  of 
measuring  their  strength.  I  cannot  say  how  much  I 
was  puzzled  by  the  consideration  of  the  possible 
result  of  a  "  regular  set-to "  between  ^neas  and 
Ulysses,  or  Hector  and  the  King  of  men. 

This  love  of  Homer  and  his  heroes,  which  has 
never  abated,  caused  me,  even  when  I  read  Shak- 
spere's  plays,  a  year  or  two  later,  to  prefer  Troilus 
and  Cressida  to  any  other,  on  account  of  what  Lamb 
calls  "the  old  famiHai*  ^ces."  Indeed,  the  Greek 
and  Eoman  education  of  boys  in  England  of  tho 
higher  ranks,  predisposes  them  to  prefer  classical 
scenery  and  characters  in  theu*  fii*st  introduction  to 
the  second  great  poet  of  the  world. 

I  say  tho  second  great  poet — for  of  this  rest 
assm'cd,  between  Homer  and  Sliaksperc  there  is  a 


252  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

parallel  to  be  drawn.     Otherwise  eacli  stands 'iinap 
■proachable  on  his  pedestal.     All  other  comparisons 
are  feeble. 

ISTevertheless,  when,  immediately  after  my  rush 
into  Shakspere,  I  received  a  complete  set  of  Milton's 
poetical  works  as  a  present  from  my  father,  I  shall 
not  easily  forget  the  devouring  rapture  with  which  I 
read  the  Paradise  Lost,  amazed  at  my  own  wicked- 
ness for  taking  so  intense  an  interest  in  Satan.  But 
who  can  help  wishing  the  rebel  Archangel  success 
in  his  stupendously  audacious  enterprise — the  first 
grand  fillibustero  adventure  on  record!  I  prayed 
God  to  forgive  me,  but  I  really  could  not  avoid  feel- 
ing that  Milton's  hero  was  the  Devil,  and  his  God  a 
tyrant. 

I  had  not  then  read  the  mighty  Prometheus  of 
^schylus,  on  which  the  Satan  is  modelled.  I  did 
not  know  that  Milton  was  the  secretary  of  Cromwell, 
and  Satan  the  embodied  spirit  of  liberty.  Even 
now  it  puzzles  me  to  know  whether  Milton  intended 
the  world  to  sympathize  fo  strongly  with  his  Rebel 
God  of  Evil  as  the  magic  of  his  poetry  necessitates. 

Was  Milton  a  free-thinker  at  bottom  ? 

Can  genius  and  superstition  live  side  by  side  ?  In 
form  perhaps,  in  essence  never. 

Thus  ft-om  the  fountains  of  the  highest  and  purest 
genius,  my  soul  was  noui-ished  in  despite  of  the  dull 


MEMOIRS   OF  DUDLEY   MONDEL.  253 

formal  routine  to  wliicli  I  was  subjected  under  the 
pretence  of  education.  My  sclioolmasters  at  first 
mistook  me  for  a  dunce,  or,  at  best,  a  boy  of  disor- 
dered mind. 

Sometimes  I  fell  into  reverie,  and  forgot  my  lesson, 
tben  made  a  desperate  effort  to  learn  in  ten  minutes 
the  task  of  an  hour.  For  tliis  I  was  reprimanded  and 
punished.  Little  did  tliey  understand  that  my  spirit 
had  returned  from  a  voyage  to  another  world — ■ 
returned  to  the  consciousness  of  human  stupidity  and 
tyranny. 

Why  is  it  that  schoolmasters  so  rarely  understand 
human  natm'e  ? 

It  is  because  this  important  and  most  noble  occu- 
pation is  still  not  appreciated  socially  at  its  true  value. 
It  is  because,  to  keep  school  is  a  desperate  resource, 
not  a  field  of  honorable  ambition.  Yet  it  is  in  the 
education  of  the  young,  that  men  of  letters  ought  to 
find  that  ease  and  emolument  which  their  irregular 
profession  too  often  denies  them.  But  the  teacher 
must  not  be  the  corrector,  nor  should  domestic  cares 
form  part  of  his  charge. 

My  first  success  at  school  was  a  fine  illustration  of 
the  attractive  theory  of  Fourier. 

Our  mathematical  master  Mr,  R ,  adopted  the 

plan  of  proposing  to  his  juvenile  class,  a  series  of 
arithmetical  problems,  to  be  solved  mentally,  without 


254:  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

« 

the  use  of  slate  or  pencil.  I  was  then  in  my  eighth 
year.  The  novelty  of  the  thing  interested  me,  and 
awakened  my  intellectual  energies.  I  proved  quite  a 
"  calculating  boy  "  (in  after  life,  calculation  has  not 
been  supposed  to  be  my  forte  by  my  wise  relatives 
and  friends) ;  I  multiplied  twenty-three  and  three 
quarters,  by  sixteen  and  a  half,  with  a  rapidity  and 
facility  that  astonished  my  teacher. 

"  How  do  you  do  it  ?  said  Mr.  E 

"I  do  it  on  a  slate?" 

"  On  a  slate  ?  But  no  slate  is  allowed,  and  you 
have  none  before  you." 

"  I  fancy  a  slate,  sir,  and  I  fancy  the  figures ;  I 
see  them  in  my  mind." 

From  that  moment  Mr.  E regarded  me  with 

interest.  In  the  holidays  my  father  engaged  him  as 
my  private  tutor.  But  this  was  an  outrage  I  resented 
most  indignantly,  as  did  also  my  little  sister.  "We 
would  7iot  work  during  holidays,  and  our  childish 
wills  were  like- the  "laws  of  the  Medes  and  Persians, 
which  altered  not,"  only  a  shade  more  obstinate.     So 

we  learned  nothing,  and  poor  Mr.  E resigned 

himself  to  our  tricks  and  his  emoluments.  But  hke 
a  good  fellow,  he  told  no  tales  out  of  school.  It  was 
lucky  for  us  he  did  not,  since  we  had  a  father  who  did 
not  comprehend  insubordination. 

My  little  sister,  two  years  younger  than  I,  was  a 


MEMOmS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         255 

most  beautiful  child,  witli  light  hair,  blue  eyes,  and 
the  most  delicate  complexion  in  the  world.  We 
loved  one  another  dearly.  "We  told  one  another  all 
our  thoughts  and  fancies,  with  the  exception,  in  my 
case,  of  my  fantastic  love-dreams,  which  were  too 
mysteriously  inexplicable  to  myself  for  me  to  make 
them  a  theme  of  conversation.  Of  these  I  shall  soon 
have  occasion  to  speak. 

I  may  mention  here,  as  one  of  the  misfortunes  of 
my  life,  that  although  the  most  perfect  sympathy 
existed  between  my  sister  and  myself  at  all  times,  wc 
have  been  almost  constantly  separated  since  our  child- 
hood, by  the  force  of  circumstances,  and  my  own 
wandering  adventures.  Thus  I  have  been  for  the 
most  part  deprived  of  eine  of  the  gi*eatest  possible' 
sources  of  consolation  in  adversity — the  pure  unselfish 
affection  of  one  of  the  noblest  and  most  enlightened 
women  of  the  age. 

But  I  must  not  linger  too  long  over  the  dreamy 
recollections  of  childhood,  or  I  shall  never  come  to 
the  events  which,  alone,  can  give  any  original  inte- 
rest to  these  hasty  records  of  my  life. 

I  was  nearly  eleven  years  of  age,  when  my  father 
and  mother  actually  separated.  My  father  seized  her 
letters;  he  said  she  had  carried  on  a  correspondence 
with  a  gentleman  who  frequented  the  house.  ITo 
himself,  imdoubtedly,  kept  a  mistress  at  the   time. 


256  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAIIP. 

Nothing  could  equal  the  bitterness  witli  which  he 
poisoned  my  mind  against  her.  He  was  all  noble 
indignation  and  generous  forbearance  !  Alas !  before 
the  suit  which  she  commenced  against  him  in  the 
Ecclesiastical  Court,  could  be  brought  to  a  conclusion, 
she  died  of  a  broken  heart,  and  I  became  the  lonely 
and  peculiar  child,  of  which  I  shall  now  have  occa- 
sion to  speak. 

We  children  were,  immediately  on  the  open  rup- 
ture taking  place  between  om*  parents,  hurriedly 
dressed,  and  thrust  into  a  carriage  at  the  door,  with- 
out even  bidding  farewell  to  our  imfortunate  mother. 
We  were  conveyed  to  the  house  of  my  father's  pri- 
vate physician,  and,  subsequently,  sent  to  schools 
where  she  could  not  find  us  out.  I  saw  my  mother 
but  once  again.  It  was  during  the  holidays;  my 
sister,  her  governess  and  I,  were  returning  from  a 
drive.  As  the  carriage  approached  the  gates  of  the 
country-house  in  which  we  lived,  the  tall  form  of  a 
lady  in  black,  with  a  black  lace  veil,  appeared 
before  the  threshold. 

It  was  my  mother ! 

Filled  with  the  hideous  impressions  produced  by 
my  father's  revolting  insinuations  against  her,  I  felt 
— shall  I  confess  the  horror ! — a  strange  apprehension 
of  that  sad  victim  of  an  iU-judged  marriage.  I  leapt 
from  the  carnage,  and  would  have  rushed  before  it 


MEMOIKS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL,         257 

tlirougli  the  oiDcn  gates,  Lad  not  my  mofher,  whose 
eyes  were  red  with  weeping,  clasped  me  in  her  arms, 
and  kissing  me  passionately,  exclaimed — 

"What !  have  they  tanght  yon  to  fear  me?" 

" No,  no,  mamma,  I  love  you  ;  indeed  I  love  you!" 
was  my  sobbing  answer. 

Tlien  I  heard  her  voice  speaking  to  the  governess, 
in  almost  inarticulate  accents,  begging  her  to  be  kind 
to  her  children. 

Then  she  fainted— yes,  reader,  my  mother  fainted 
on ,  the  threshold  of  my  father's  house,  and  his 
servants  did  not  dare  to  cany  her  into  the  house  to 
restore  her ! 

Was  it  not  in  that  house,  that,  accompanied  by 
witnesses,  she  surprised  him  in  the  very  arms  of  his 
paramour  ? 

When  she  was  restored.  She  re-entered  the  car- 
riage, which  awaited  her  hard-by,  and  the  poor 
governess,  with  eyes  full  of  tears,  stammered  vaguely 
words  of  consolation  to  my  grief 

Poor,  dear  Mrs.  F ,  she  was  a  good  woman, 

and  a  true  lady.     She  had  been  formerly  governess 

to  Lord  M 's  children,  the  grandchildren  of  the 

King.  It  was  to  her  evidence,  as  to  the  truth  of  my 
representations  that  I  owed  at  a  later  period  the  offer 
of  a  commission  in  the  British  army,  from  the  late 
commander-in-chief  himself.    I  could  not  accept  tho 


258  THE   SLAVE  OF  THE   LAMP. 

commission  ;  blit  I  well  recollect  at  tlie  time,  the 
admirable  effect  produced  on  my  wortliy  landlady, 
by  the  arrival  of  tbe  long  official  letter  with  "  on  her 
majesty's  sermce^''  printed  so  conspicuously  on  the 
cover.  I  believe  it  was  worth  three  months,  additional 
credit  to  me,  at  the  least.     But  I  anticipate  events. 

I  was  twelve  years  of  age.  I  had  been  sent  to  a 
new  boarding-school,  about  ten  miles  from  London. 

In  this  house  it  was,  that  Dean  Swift,  the  renowned 
satirist,  ate  the  bread  of  bitterness,  as  private  secre- 
tary of  the  famous  minister.  Sir  William  Temple. 

It  was  in  Swift's  little  study,  that  I  wrote  my  first 
boyish  satire,  "  The  Bengal  Tiger,"  wherein  I  lashed 
with  a  "  whip  of  scoi-pions "  a  little  boy,  son  of  an 
Indian  Major,  who  had  indulged  the  carnivorous 
extravagance  of  taking  a  mouthful  of  a  schoolfellow's 
shoulder. 

Byron's  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Eeviewers  was 
not  more  successful  in  the  gi'eat  world,  than  was 
the  "  Bengal  Tiger "  at  Temple  Grove.  I  "  awoke 
and  found  myself  famous." 


II. 


At  that  time  the  measles  had  run  through  the 
school,  and  though  convalescent,  a  large  party  of  us 
were  living  in  happy  idleness.    Not  being  able  to  go 


MEAIOIES   OF   DUDLEY   MONDEL.  259 

out,  and  released  fi-om  scliolastic  torture,  we  devoted 
ourselves  to  literature. 

Pickwick  had  just  electrified  the  world.  The  star 
of  Boz  had  risen  like  a  super!)  comet  with  a  most 
extraordinarily  fine  tale.  I  awoke  one  morning  (not 
on  the  morning  in  which  I  found  myself  famous,  but 
a  day  or  two  before  that  occurrence),  and  saw  all  the 
bovs  in  the  room  reading  Pickwick. 

"  IIollo,  whose  books  are  those  ?"  cried  I,  gazing 
covetously  at  the  bright  green-covered  nmnbers. 

"  Why,  youTs^''  said  one  of  the  boys. 

"Mine?" 

"  Tes,  yours  of  course  ;  I  suppose  your  governor 
sent  them  for  you ;  we  found  them  on  the  mantelpiece 
wrajjped  loosely  in  that  piece  of  brown  paper,  and 
so  took  a  look  at  them." 

From  that  day  a  Pickwickian  element  was  mingled 
with  om-  conversations.  AVe  were  all  Sam  "Wellers, 
or  rather.  Fellers,  for  we  did  not  forget  Mr,  Weller 
senior's,  solemn  injunction.  "  Spell  it  with  a  %oe  Sam- 
mivel,  spell  it  with  a  we .'" 

Under  these  circumstances,  a  comic  poet  arrived 
at  the  right  time,  and  there  was  a  furore  in  favor 
of  the  Boujal  Tiger. 

Like  Uncle  Tom.  the  Bengal  Tiger  originally  owed 
its  immense  success  to  the  haj^py  selection  of  the  sub- 
ject and  its  advocacy  of  a  great  jpi'inciplc.    Eughsh 


260  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

boys,  especiallj  tlie  "  sons  of  gentlemen,"  are  severe 
advocates  of  fair-JigJiting.  In  fact,  thej  liave  very 
rigid  ideas  of  the  conduct  of  tlie  duelleo  or  single 
combat. 

'  In  a  battle  witb  fists,  it  is  lawful  to  hit  anyhow 
and  any  where  ahove  the  waist,  but  the  boy  who 
scratches  or  hites,  is  utterly  disgraced  in  the  eyes  of 
this  youthful  chivalry.'^ 

The  Bengal  Tiger,  besides  being  the  "  funniest 
poem  ever  written"  (I  quote  a  Review  started  for 
the  express  purpose  of  criticising  the  "  Tiger  ")  was 
an  indignant  denunciation  of  all  unfair  fighting, 
which  it  stigmatized  as  altogether  unworthy  of 
gentlemen  and  only  fit  for  wild  Irishmen  and  can- 
nibals. 

Hence  its  unbounded  popularity. 

Hence  half  a  dozen  spurious  imitations,  which 
vainly  strove  to  rival  the  "  real  original  Tiger." 

In  fact  no  less  than  six  Bengal  Tigers  were  in  the 
field  and,  be  it  noted,  in  every  one  of  them  tiger 
rhymed  to  Niger,  according  to  the  arrangement  of 
the  first  verse  of  the  original  mastei'piece,  which  ran 
thus : — 

*  A  lingering  remnant  of  this  educational  prejudice  would,  I  admit,  even  now 
enable  me  to  shoot  a  man  who  talked  of  gouging,  not  as  a  remedial,  only,  but  eyea 
as  a  preventive  measure,  without  any  scruples  of  conscience.  I  should  certainly 
propose,  on  all  occasions,  to  administer  Lynch  law  to  the  degraded  ruffians  who 
Indulge  in  such  fiendlike  and  revolting  atrocities. 


MEMOIRS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.  261 

"  You've  heard  of  crocodiles  tliat  fill 
The  seven-mouthed  Nile  and  Niger, 
You've  heard  of  wondrous  Jack  and  Jill, 
But  not  the  Bengal  tiger  !" 


But  like  the  nnmbeiiess  ai30cr}T3lial  gospels  which 
were  discarded  in  the  early  centimes  of  Christianity, 
the  spurious  tigers  disappeared  as  rapidly  and  surely 
from  view  as  that  renowned  animal  of  the  same 
breed,  who,  in  the  magniloquent  ]3hrase  of  the  world- 
famed  Peter  Parley,  on  some  occasion  had  the 
remarkable  indiscretion  J;o  "  plunge  like  a  thunder- 
bolt into  the  very  jaws  of  the  crocodile." 

Probably  this  sublime  passage  (vide  illustration) 
suggested  my  own  opening  stanza.  If  so,  I  render 
unto  Caesar  the  things  that  are  Caesar's,  and  to  Parley 
the  things  which  are  Parley's — which  is  more  than 
the  booksellei-s  and  their  miserable  hacks  have  done 
to  that  ingenious  writer. 

A  word  here  for  Peter !  Ilis  natural  history  is  the 
most  charming  book  of  the  kind,  for  the  young,  ever 
produced.  Its  frontispiece  Avith  the  comparative 
sizes  of  the  animals  is  an  admirable  idea.  Its  style 
and  method  are  delightful.  I  read  it  over  so  often 
when  a  child  that  even  at  this  moment  I  can  recite 
passages  from  its  pages  verhatim. 

Hid  son  wallcs  in  his  footsteps,  and  the  letters  of 


262  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

"  Dick    Tinto  "   from  Paris,*   are  the  best  corres- 
pondence letters  iii  the  world. 

The  success  of  the  "  Tiger  "  prompted  me  to  more 
ambitious  efforts,  and  I  translated  one  of  the  most 
famous  odes  of  Horace  into  English  verse  so  much  to 
the  satisfaction  of  the  head  master  of  the  academy, 
that  he  encouraged  me  to  go  on,  and  resolved,  if  I 
succeeded  as  well  with  the  rest,  to  publish  the  work 
as  a  specimen  of  what  boys  at  twelve'  years  of  age 
were  in  the  habit  of  doing  under  his  tuition.  But  I 
was  like  the  bird  that  sings  when  he  pleases,  and  so 
Horace  was  left  to  his  fate  and  to  the  pedants. 
Meanwhile  the  wife  of  the  master,  a  lady  of  about 
five  and  thirty,  still  extremely  beautiful  and  highly 
accomplished,  showed  my  lighter  boyish  productions 
to  her  most  distinguished,  guests,  and  with  a  woman's 
instinct  recognized  in  them  a  germ  of  that  which, 
perhaps,  escaped  her  learned  husband.  Accordingly 
she  suggested  an  epic  !  —  and  "  Scanderbeg  the 
Epirotian  King,"  was  the  result,  a  most  infernally 
absurd  poem  in  the  heroic  measure — a  childish  epic 
of  a  hundred  and  fifty  lines  ! 

Thanked  be  Destiny,  I  was  not  a  precocious  genius, 
or,  as  Dickens  phrases  it,  an  infant  phenomenon.     I. 
wrote  as  I  thought  and  felt,  but  wrote  as  a  hoy. 
My  command  of  language  was  perfect,  my  com- 

Published  in  the  Baili/  Times, 


MEMOmS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         2G3 

mand  of  ideas  limited  by  my  years.  I  couM  not 
produce  those  marvellous  jparodies  wliicli  are  so 
often  mistaken  in  the  young  for  signs  of  original 
power.  ^Notliing  is  more  fallacious.  Tlie  true  poet, 
or  inventive  spirit,  writes  himself.  Tlie  pseudo- 
genius  reproduces  others.  The  one  is  a  "  mirror  to 
nature,"  the  other  a  mere  colored  window.  There 
was  one  boy  at  Temple  Grove  who  could  write  so 
good  an  imitation  of  an  Edinburgh  Quarterly  review 
article,  that  Macaulay  himself  could  not  have  helped 
laughing  at  the  likeness,  which,  as  his  son  was  at 
the  school,  he  possibly  may  have  seen. 

My  next  attempts  were  a  series  of  tales  in  prose 
and  verse,  ranging  from  "  The  Last  of  the  Eomans, 
or  the  fall  of  Constantinople,"  to  "  Prester  John," 
and  "  The  Island  of  Magicians,"  with  odes  to  all 
the  Seasons,  and  a  love  poem  so  universal  in  its  aspi- 
rations, that  I  quote  it  here  from  memory,  as  show 
ing  what  strange  thoughts  boys  do  cherish : 

"  Oh  !  bad  I  but  one  being  to  share 
Mjr  dreams  and  fears  and  delights  and  toara, 
And  were  she  passing  passing  fair! 
With  azure  eyes,  and  amber  hair  ; 
Might  she  be  prest, 
To  my  fond  breast ! 
And  I,  in  words  of  flame  declare 
My  glowing  love,  and  she  confess, 


264  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP.  1 

An  echo — this 

Were  brighter  bliss, 
Than,  save  in  castles  in  the  air,  • 

Illumes  life's  bleak  wilderness!" 

I  still  preserve  the  original  MS.  of  this  sentimental 
production,  written  in  a  trembling  round  hand,  as  if 
under  slight  agitation.  Truly,  the  boy  is  the  father 
ot  the  man ! 

m. 

Properly  speaking,  I  have  known  but  one  passion 
in  my  life — the  love  of  Beauty. 

All  other  sentiments,  have  ever  with  me  been 
secondary  to  the  one  great  idea.  I  cannot  recollect 
the  time  when  this  idea  did  not  predominate  in  my 
mind.  My  earliest  dreams,  waking  and  sleeping, 
were  of  beautiful  little  girls,  of  ecstatic  caresses,  and 
ineffable  affection. 

Being  incapable  of  conceiving  any  other  object  in 
existence  than  love,  iiearly  the  whole  energy  of  my 
being  has  been  expended  in  the  search  for  that  ideal 
beauty  and  .sympathy,  without  which,  I'&aw  no  hope 
of  happiness,  no  refuge  from  utter  despair  and 
death. 

Living  in  this  dream,  I  have  accomplished  all 
other  acts  of  my  life,   comparatively  speaking,  as 


MEMOIRS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         265 

tasks^  from  a  sense  of  duty,  or  ratlier  pride  and  self- 
respect.  I  never  cared  much  for  praise,  even  when 
a  boy.  I  never  felt  emulation.  A  strangely  blind 
confidence  in  my  own  success,  under  all  circum- 
stances, and  against  all  rivalry,  was  one  of  the  pecu- 
liarities (perhaps  diseases)  of  my  character. 

At  the  same  time  this  pride,  which  sustained  mo, 
and  alone  counteracted  my  natm*al  tendency  to  fan- 
tastic and  meditative  idleness,  was  of  an  almost 
Satanic  intensity.  I  was  a  natural  desperado.  At  an 
early  age  I  adopted  as  my  motto  under  all  circum- 
stances, the  simple  alternative,  "  Yictory  or  Deaths 

The  heraldic  motto  of  my  family,  "  Animo  et  Fide 
— By  courage  and  by  faith,"  was  not  indeed  far 
removed  in  spirit  from  that  which  I  adopted. 

To  revolutionize  empires,  to  achieve  literaiy, 
artistic  or  scientific  supremacy ;  to  conquer  the 
thousand  difficulties  which  oppose  an  unbounded 
ambition,  appeared  to  me  always  mere  matters  of 
calculation,  perseverance  and  audacity.  But  to  dis- 
cover the  ideal  beauty — and,  having  discovered  her, 
'to  gain  the  return  for  my  love  which  my  soul  so 
imperiously  demanded,  there,  there  indeed,  was.  a 
perilous  problem  for  my  life  I 

Even  in  that  dilemma  I  fell  back — I  still  fall  back 
upon  my  old  and  desperate  motto —  Victm^y  w 
Death! 

12 


266  THE  SLATE  Or  THE  LAMP. 


IV. 

I  had  only  "been  some  months  at  T G , 

when  one  day  my  father  came  to  see  me.  According 
to  established  usage,  I  was  arrayed  in  fresh  clothes 
from  head  to  foot,  and  then  sent  to  the  reception- 
room.  ■  My  father  received  me  with  a  strange, 
abstracted,  yet  determined,  air. 

"  We  will  walk,"  said  he,  "  down  the  hill ;  I  have 
left  the  carriage  at  the  inn." 

•  He  then  paused,  and  seeming  to  collect  himself  for 
an  effort,  said  abruptly — 

"  Youi-  poor  mother  is  dead — she  died  some  time 

ago  of  a  fever.     I  sent  H (his  steward)  to  verify 

her  decease.  Poor  thing!  her  death  was  perhaps 
fortunate  both  for  herself  and  others," 

After  this  appropriate  moral  reflection,  my  father 
paused,  and  seeming  to  make  a  second  effort  more 
violent  than  the  first,  he  continued  rapidly : — 

"  But  this  was  not  what  I  more  especially  came  to 
tell  you — the  fact  is— you  may  as  well  know  it  at 
once — and  I  may  as  well  let  you  know  it  as  leave 
others  to  talk  nonsense  to  you— the  fact  is  that  lam 
married  againP 

"  Your  mother  is  dead— I  am  married  again  !  !  I" 

That  was  all  1 


MEMOIRS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         267 

My  mind  refused  to  receive  sucli  an  idea.  The 
shock  of  the  sudden  and  startling  news  made  me  feel 
confused  and  stupid.  I  walked  beside  my  father  in 
silence.  He  said  no  more  till  we  reached  the  hotel, 
before  which  stood  a  carriage. 

In  it  sat  my  little  sister,  then  ten  years  of  age,  and 
a  lady  of  about  two  or  three-and-twenty  at  most, 
dressed  in  a  satin  cloak,  trimmed  with  fur.  She  was 
pretty,  but  it  was  a  coarse  and  vulgar  beauty,  even 
to  the  eyes  of  a  boy  who  had  seen  glimpses  of  good 
society.  She  had  a  strange  look,  that  look  which  in 
after  years  I  learned  so  easily  to  appreciate  in  the 
fashionable  kept  mistresses  of  London,  Paris,  and 
other  Euroj)ean  capitals.  She  looked  out  of  her  ele- 
ment. Poor  thing  !  she  little  thought  what  a  bleak 
prospect  lay  before  her ;  she  little  dreamed  that  the 
whole  remainder  of  her  life  was  to  be  one  long  battle 
for  admission  into  a  society  which  despised  her,  one 
long  attempt  to  solve  the  insoluble  problem  of  reme-' 
dymg  a  defective  education,  and  concealing  a  never- 
sleeping  fear  of  retribution.  Ilad  she  herself  been 
even  a  model  of  discretion,  policy  and  delicate  tact, 
she  could  have  done  nothing,  wedded  as  she  was  to 
a — madman. 

Yes,  reader,  the  secret  of  my  father's  outrageous 
conduct  in  tlnis  indecently  marrying  his  mistress  on 
the  very  day  after  my  mother^s  deaths  lay  not  in  the 


268  .  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

fierce  impatience  of  his  family-character,  nor  indeed 
in  any  peculiar  recklessness  or  defiance  of  public 
opinion,  which  he  secretly  dreaded  as  much  as  any 
man  I  ever  knew.  No,  it  lay  in  the  fact  that  in  one 
point  he  was  as  thoroughly  insane  as  any  patient  in 
Bedlam. 

My  father's  madness  was  religious.  This  insanity 
was,  I  believe,  the  primary  cause  of  his  disagreement 
with  my  mother.  As  soon  as  I  grew  up,  I  became 
aware  of  the  fact,  which  was  finally  proved  conclu- 
sively by  a  proceeding  on  his  part,  so  absurd  and 
ridiculous  as  to  be  almost  incredible. 

It  happened  when  I  was  about  two-and-twenty,  but 
I  will  narrate  it  here,  to  bear  out  the  above  state- 
ments satisfactorilv. 

He  took  it  into  his  head,  and  for  years — so  he  told ' 
me — meditated  the  design,  to  print  the  four  gospels  in 
such  a  manner,  that  verse  1,  of  Matthew,  should  be 
opposite  vei-se  1,  of  Mark,  Luke,  and  John';  and  so 
on  to  the  end  of  the  shortest  gospel,  when  the  other 
three  continued  their  parallel  careers,  till,  first  two, 
then  one  only  remained,  and  that  also  finally  ended 
with  a  threefold  white  margin  at  its  side. 

Of  the  preposterous  absurdity  of  this  arrangement 
he  seemed  to  have  no  consciousness.  He  called  the 
book,  of  which  was  printed  a  large  edition,  regardless 
of  expense,  "The  Pkkfect   Law  of  Libebty,"  and 


MEMOIKS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         209 

designed  for  it  a  frontispiece.  Tliis  frontispiece  repre- 
sented Jesus  Christ,  with  liis  cross,  as  tlie  apex  of  a 
Gothjc  arch.  Below  him  were  angels  blowing  trum- 
pets, and  beneath  their  feet  the  earth,  bm-sting  in 
twain,  disclosed  a  gigantic  Death's  head,  emblem,  I 
suppose,  of  that  final  catastrophe  expected  by  the 
devout. 

The  parallel  gospels,  without  parallel  (for  of  course 
the  passages  describing  the  same  events,  never  faced 
one  another),  were  preceded  by  an  introduction,  with 
a  strange  mixture  of  imaginative  intelligence,  and 
raving  lunacy,  and  were  followed  by  a  general  chro- 
nology, studiously  adapted  to  the  exigencies  of  reli- ' 
gious  tradition. 

In  after  years,  when,  by  liis  own  confession,  he 
had  disinherited  me,  and  resolved  to  give  his  whole 
property  to  his  wife,  I  often  took  up  the  "Perfect 
Law  of  Liberty,"  and  said  bitterly,  "  Thou  art  my 
box  of  title-deeds — the  will  of  a  madman  is  waste 
paper.     I  may  yet  live   to  spend   in  the  cause  of 
man's  rights  and  liberties,  to  relieve  suffering  genius 
and    honest     worth,     the     wealth    which    insanity 
devoted  to  publishing  its  own  delusion  and  selfish- 
ness,  and    in    ]>re]iaring   costly  entertainments    for 
parasites  and  fools,  whilst  I,  the  heir  and  hope  of  my 
race,  wandered  in  poverty  and  sorrow  over  the  earth, 
with  no  fortune  but  my  courage,  and  no  companion 


270  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

but  my  science — a  treasure  and  a  friend  of  wliich 
death  alone  can  rob  us !" 

My  father's  madness,  then,  being  religious,  he  took 
the  earliest  opportunity  of  sanctifying,  by  wedlock, 
a  connection  which,  in  his  eyes,  was  a  crime. 

Men  of  the  world  may  laugh  at  such  simplicity. 
For  my  part,  I  believe  religious  superstition  to  be 
the  greatest  cui-se  of  humanity.  I  was  myself  at  the 
age  of  fourteen  very  near  becoming  a  bigoted  reli- 
gionist. An  accident  cured  me.  It  was  my  custom, 
at  night,  to  read  with  enthusiastic  devotion,  portions 
of  the  Four  Gospels  (selected  by  the  Church  out  of 
some  hundreds  now  lost  or  forgotten),  supposed  to  be 
written  by  the  four  writers  above  alluded  to.  By 
this  means  I  exalted  mySelf  into  a  state  of  intense 
fanaticism,  and  learned  to  understand  the  true  nature 
of  the  religious  sentiment,  or  insanity,  as  freethink- 
ers would  term  it. 

Love  alone  offers  any  parallel  to  the  force  of  the 
religious  passion.  At  that  time  I  would  have  become 
a  martyr  without  hesitation.  One  night  I  dreamed 
the  whole  scene  of  the  Crucifixion  with  such  awful 
vividness,  that  it  has  never  since  faded  or  become 
dim  like  other  dreams.  Especially  the  tall,  gaunt, 
mildly  stern  figure  of  Jesus  is  ever  present  to  my 
memory,  when  it  reverts  to  the  subject  of  his  life 
and  mystery. 


MEMOIES  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         271 

The  accident  -wliicli  checked  the  flow  of  my  gush- 
ing enthusiasm  for  the  creed  of  mediation,  was  this  : 
My  father  one  niglit  suddenly  entered  my  bed-room, 
and  finding  me  reading  the  Gospels  as  usual,  ordered 
me  sternly  to  go  to  bed  at  once,  and  indulge  no  such 
eccentricities, 

"  But,"  said  I,  amazed  at  this  harshness,  "  I  was 
reading  the  ISTew  Testament." 

"Nonsense!"  said  my  father,  "Go  to  bed,  and 
read  the  New  Testament  at  a  more  fitting  season." 

My  father  had  a  strange  dread  of  fire,  and  much 
disliked  any  one  to  burn  lamp  or  candle  during  the 
night.  Of  com'se  he  himself,  in  his  autocratic  char- 
acter, was  an  exception  to  all  his  own  laws,  which, 
like  'those  of  tlie  Medes  and  Persians,  altered  not, 
except  when  necessity  left  no  alternative. 

Tlie  idea  that  at  any  time  to  read  the  wordg^  of 
God  (for  such  I  then  firmly  believed  the  Gospels  to 
be)  could  be  wrong,  or  that  any  wordly  considera- 
tions could  possibly  be  superior  to  the  eternal  salva- 
tion of  one's  soul,  shocked  me  unutterably.  At  one 
leap  I  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  all  professed 
Christians  were  hypocrites,  that  their  religion  was  a 
mere  fancy,  and  tlieii*  belief  too  weak  to  influence 
their  external  lives  in  any  matter  of  importance.  I 
saw  that  it  did  not  please  my  father  to  see  real  faith 
in  my  heart.    "What  he  required  was,  that  I  should 


272  THE   SLAVE  OF   THE   LAMP. 

accept  religion  from  him,  and  as  he  understood  it. 
My  stronger  and  more  passionate  intelligence  at  once 
rejected  with  scorn  the  mere  shell  of  religious  forms, 
and  sought  to  warm  itself  in  the  rays  of  the  living 
Truth.  But  the  blow  was  struck.  To  my  intense 
sensibility  there  was  never  any  middle  way.  Before 
two  years  had  elapsed,  I  was  what  the  canters  term 
an  Infidel,  that  is,  I  began  to  substitute  the  rational 
belief  of  the  philosopher  for  the  blind  dream  of  the 
fanatic.  My  study  of  the  Gospels  cured  me  at  least 
of  the  religious  dread  or  "  reign  of  terror,"  as  I  have 
elsewhere  called  it.  A  silly  sermon  by  a  dull  parson 
could  no  longer  alarm  me  with  visions  of  hell,  devils, 
and  damnation :  I  ceased  to  meditate  on  religion ;  the 
subject  became  hateful  to  my  mind ;  I  avoided  it 
with  care.  I  fell  back  on  my  visions  of  ideal  beauty, 
and  began  to  compose  new  poems  and  tales,  which 
were  the  admiration  of  my  schoolfellows.  I  could 
improvise  verse  without  an  effort,  and  invent  endless 
stories  at  a  moment's  notice. 

Often  I  was  amazed  to  observe  that  the  fictions  I 
thus  spontaneously  poured  out  were  eagerly  credited 
as  facts  by  my  young  auditors,  and  that  I  was 
seriously  regarded  as  the  hero  of  the  adventures 
which  I  narrated. 

In  after  years  it  has  been  the  highest  triumph  of 
my  literary  ambition  to  hear  from  authors  of  my 


MEMOmS   OF   DUDLEY   MONDEL.  273 

acquaintance,  the  repeated  assertion  of  a  belief  in 
the  substantial  truth  of  my  wildest  conceptions. 


V. 


0  infernal  torture  of  Greek  verbs  and  Latin  ver- 
ses !  what  a  discipline  for  the  soul !  Is  it  for  good  or 
evil  ?  I  know  not,  I  cannot  here  discuss  the  question. 
There  is  a  strange  prejudice  in  favor  of  the  old  scho- 
lastic routine  of  education,  which  never  utterly  dies 
in  the  soul  of  one  of  its  alumni.  English  school-life 
is  a  dire  imprisonment,  yet  I  do  not  regret  its  seve- 
rity ;  no,  I  would  not  miss  from  my  thoughts,  even 
Old  Harper,  the  sergeant  who  drilled  us  in  the  gun 
exercise,  and  rapped  us  over  the  knuckles  with  a 
ramrod !  Tliat  drilling  was  the  most  unsatisfactory 
process,  for  the  reader  must  understand  that  the  rusty 
old  flint-lock  muskets  (Heaven  knows  how  tnuch 
they  weighed  !)  were  never  loaded,  and  that  the  only 
part  of  a  drill  we  boys  would  have  enjoyed,  viz., 
"bm-ning  powder,"  was  rigorously  denied  to  us. 

1  must  say  that  we  were  well  taken  care  of  at 

T G .     If  we  had  been  of  glass  or  wax,  we 

could  not  have  been  more  watched  over  and  looked 
after. 

Seven  ladies — emphatically  so   called — and  they 
were,  in  my  time,  a  very  j^rctty  set  of  young  women 

11* 


274:  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

(a  sort  of  cross  between  the  lady's  maid  and  tlie 
governess),  had  each  the  care  of  a  certain  number  of 
boys,  their  linen  and  their  general  comforts.  To  ser- 
vants, our  royal  highnesses  were  never  to  speak,  on 
any  pretence,  except  at  meals,  when  a  solemn  butler 
waited  on  us  with  the  gravity  of  a  Turkish  Moolah, 
or  a  Gold  Stick  in  waiting. 

It  will  appear  singular,  and  I  record  the  fact  as 
curious,  that  one  of  the  duties  of  these  fair  ladies, 
was  to  wash  us  every  morning  and  evening  to  the 
waists,  which  they  did,  I  must  admit,  in  the  chastest 
and  most  gentle  manner.  It  was  also  their  duty  to 
see  us  undress,  and  go  to  bed,  and  to  extinguish  the 

lights.    When  my  friend  L took  his  warm  baths, 

he  told  me  that  the  youngest  of  these  "ladies"  was 
ever  ready  with  the  warm  towels,  to  perform  the  part 
of  oriental  bath-servant,  for  his  lordship. 

ITevertheless,  I   consider  on  the  whole,  that  the 

morality    at    T G was    unexceptionable. 

The  conversation  of  the  boys  was,  as  usual,  of  the 
most  libertine  character.  I  am  told  that  at  young 
ladies'  boarding  schools,  the  subjects  of  conversation 
in  the  dormitories  are  apt  to  be  of  a  romantic  nature. 

IIow  foolishly  parents  and  teachers  act  in  these 
matters.  As  if  the  great  mystery  of  life,  could  pos- 
sibly fail  to  be  a  subject  of  the  most  intense  inter- 
est to  the  young ;  as  if  the  development  of  the  germ 


MEMOmS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         275 

of  passion,  could  possibly  be  impeded  by  the  imprac- 
ticable attempt  to  disguise  or  misrepresent  the  great 
truths  of  nature. 

The  boys  at  T G belonged  to  the  first 

families  in  England,  many  of  them  the  sons  of  peers, 
of  distinguished  statesmen,  even  ^f  cabinet  ministera 
and  royal  blood:  all  connected  with  the  rank  and 
celebrity  of  the  day.     The  terms  were  very  high,  and 

the  profits  to  T- ,  the  master,  immense.     ISTever 

were  juvenile  aristocrats  more  simply  or  cheaply 
dieted  than  we.  A  bowl  of  milk-and-water  for  break- 
fast, with  dry  bread  ad  libitum^  the  same  for  supper, 
and  at  dinner  a  j)lain  joint,  potatoes  and  pudding — 
Buch  was  our  unvarying  victual. 

I  believe  the  cost  of  keeping  a  boy  at  T G 

was  above  a  hundred  pounds  (or  $500)  a  year. 

It  is  a  question  with  me  whether  a  more  generous 
diet  would  not  have  in  most  cases  proved  beneficial. 
But,  at  any  rate,  this  frugal  fare  was  calculated  to 
keep  down  the  budding  passions,  and  leave  our  heads 
clear  for  study.  And  how  we  studied ! — ^rather  say 
crammed.     I  will  give  the  programme  of  the  day. 

Up  at  six,  dress  till  half-past ;  chapter  of  Bible, 
and  unlimited  Greek  gi-ammar  till  half-past  eight. 
School-room  cold,  boys  hungry. 

From  ten  till  twelve,  Latin  translation,  Virgil, 
Iloracc,  Cicero,  as  the  case  may  be.    Geometry,  or 


276  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

some  brancli  of  mathematics,  till  one.  A  diy  biscuit, 
an  hour's  play,  and  dinner  at  two.  Play  till  three. 
Greek  play  till  five  ;  Latin  verses  till  half-past  seven  I 
Tea — wash — bed  bv  nine  at  latest.  Conversation  on 
the  greatness  of  our  doings  at  home — horses,  dogs, 
pretty  girls,  the  tremendous  dignity  of  those  awful 
potentates,  the  "governors,"  and  sleep — ^fights,  bol- 
stering-matches,  marauding  expeditions"'  excepted — 
till  six,  and  the  inevitable  alarm-bell.   ' 

Drawing,  dancing,  fencing,  riding  and  drilling,  in 
extra  hours. 

■If  boys  could  be  educated,  we  were ;  for  I  really  do 
not  see  licm  we  could  have  worked  any  harder,  and 
'survived  the  operation. 

For  my  j)art,  what  with  a  secret  impression  I  con- 
ceived that  T G was  a  soi-t  of  educational 

Bastile  for  young  lords  and  gentlemen  of  refractory 
dispositions,  and  my  horror  at  my  father's  marriage, 
I  resolved  to  run  away,  and  seek  my  fortune  like  the 
heroes  I  had  read  about  in  that  very  narrow  (minded) 
place,  the  "  wide,  wide  world." 

David  B ,  son  of  Sir  David  B ,  of  E , 

was  the  only  boy  I  could  induce  to  accompany  me. 
But  what  with  me  was  a  stern  pui"pose,  with  him  was 
a  thoughtless  whim.  However,  we  raised  all  the 
funds  we  could — a  hard  matter — for  a  lady  banker 
was  made  the  depository  of  all  our  cash,  and  in  this 


MEMOIES  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         277 

truly  plialansterian  establishment,  there  was  a  store  on 
the  premises  at  whicli  bats,  balls,  and  other  "  notions" 
were  handed  to  ns  on  payment  by  check  being  ten- 
dered. However,  we  collected  all  the  smuggled  spe- 
cie, which  was  readily  given  up  to  ns  as  it  was  use- 
less in  the  pockets  of  its  owners,  who  had  absolutely 
.  no  means  of  communication  with  the  external  world. 

An  hour  or  two  before  the  bell  rang,  one  morning, 
we  made  a  start.  Our  plan  was  simple  and  roman 
tic.  "VVe  would  make  our  way  to  the  sea-coast,  take 
up  our  lodging  in  a  cave  in  the  cliffs,  and  watch  an 
opportunity  to  join  a  band  of  smugglers  !  Meantime, 
if  our  funds  ran  out,  we  could  sell  our  gold  watches 
and  chains,  or,  finally  eat  lobsters,  crabs  and  oysters, 
which  we  could  get  for  the  catching  on  the  sea-shore. 

We  ourselves  were  however  caught  within  a  couple 
of  hours,  on  the  top  of  the  London  coach,  notwith- 
standing that,  like  the  villains  in  the  melodramas,  we 
affected  to  disguise  ourselves  by  sticking  up  our  col- 
lars, and  slouching  our   caps  over   our  eyes.     Old 

A ,  the  mathematical  master,  stopped  the  coach, 

and  though  I  jumped  down,  had  all  the  money  about 
me,  and  could  have  out-run  the  fat  little  man  with 
ease,  I  did  not  care  for  a  lonely  escapade,  and  sur- 
rendered myself  prisoner  of  war,  and  was  led  homo 
captive  along  with  poor  David,  who,  like  King  David 
of  old,  raised  up  his  voice  and  wept.     I  am  soiry  to 


278  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

say,  that  I  only  swore.  But  that  was  mentally ;  exter- 
nally, I  preserved  the  stoicism  of  an  Indian  prisoner. 

The    ntmost    consternation     prevailed    at    T 

G on    om*  flight  being  detected.     Messengers 

were  dispatched  in  all  directions.  T-- —  himself  went 
off  to  my  father's  house  in  London ;  the  boys 
were  in  ecstasies.  When  we  returned  as  culprits,  in 
our  sombre  despair  and  terror  of  the  coming  judg- 
ment, we  distributed  recklessly  whole  i)ockets  full 
of  candy,  and  were  heroes  and  persecuted  patriots 
ranking  with  Harmodius  and  Aristogeiton  in  the  eyes 
of  our  companions. 

We  were  soon  martyrs. 

And  here  a  word.  If  there  be  one  contemptible, 
unmanly,  cowardly  act  in  the  world,  it  is  flogging  a 
school-hoy — a  weak,  helpless,  imperfectly  responsible 
being,  who  does  wrong  because  he  is  ignorant  or 
weak,  a  delicate  plant  which,  physically  and  morally, 
is  eternally  influenced  by  every  moment  of  suf- 
fering which  it  endures — a  creature  to  be  guided  by 
love  and  wisdom,  and  dignity,  inspiring  respect ;  not 
to  be  bullied^  menaced,  cowed,  spirit-broken,  and 
frightened.  Know  this,  modern  Solomons — three 
thousand  years  behind  the  age !  there  is  no  surer  way 
to  breed  fools  and  cowards  than  by  flogging. 

When  M W shot  the  schoolmaster,  I  for 

one,  acquitted  him  from  the  depths  of  my  heart. 


MEMOmS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         279 


* 


Had  I  a  son,  and  any  living  pedagogue  dared  to 
put  liim  to  the  torture,  lie  sliould  either  beg  the  child's 
pardon  on  his  knees,  or  die  the  death  of  a  scoundrel 
and  a  coward !  Like  Thomas  Carlyle,  I  have  no 
pity  for  scoundrels — at  least,  not  when  they  cross 
my  path.  A  rattlesnake  cannot  help  being  a  rattle- 
snake ;  nevertheless,  I  feel  no  scruple  in  giving  his 
soul  a  lift  on  the  great  staircase  of  spiritual  progress. 

We  were  flogged — half  a  dozen  ushers  were  ready 
to  overpower  all  resistance. 

Mark  the  result.  I  meditated  onurder^  at  the  age 
of  twelve  years  !  For  long  years  the  insult  rankled 
in  my  heart,  and  passing  visions  of  inflicting  awful 

justice  on  poor  T returned  again   and  again. 

Yet,  this  man  was  merely  part  of  a  vicious  system, 
and  in  his  miserable  ignorance  of  everything  but 
pedantic  lore,  and  every-day  worldly  maxims  and 
prejudices,  he  would  l)e  now,  in  my  eyes,  were  I  to 
meet  him,  as  much  morally  a  child  compared  to  his 
future  pupil,  as  was  I  then,  physically  compared 
to  himself. 

What  a  mystery  is  the  philosophy  of  the  passions  ! 

To  revenge  is  natural ;  to  chensh  revenge  is  diabo- 
lical. 

How  strange  would  it  seem  to  me,  were  I  to  meet 
tliis  man  again — he,  almost  in  second  childliood ;  I, 
iu  the  early  prime  of  manhood,  capable  perhaps,  of 


280  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

striking  liim  dead  at  a  blow;  our  positions  utterly 
reversed,  our  very  intellectual  relations  totally  sub- 
verted! Could  I  recall  with  bitterness  bis  by-gone 
folly  ?  1^0 ;  I  sbould  only  see  before  me,  an  old  man 
who,  to  tbe  best  of  bis  feeble  ability,  labored  to  form 
my  mind  for  tbe  battle  of  life,  to  impart  to  me  tbe 
stores  of  learning,  wbicb  be  bimself  bad  accumulated 
with  such  vast  and  patient  labor,  and  wbo  after  all 
gave  me  credit  for  all  tbe  good  he  could  see  in  me, 
and  meant  to  do  his  duty,  so  far  as  his  own  self-inter- 
est would  let  him. 

But,  at  the  time,  the  effect  of  that  flogging  was  to 
demonize  me. 

Up  to  that  time,  I  was  almost  girlish  in  my  gentle- 
ness and  delicacy  of  feeling.  A  harsh  word  or  look, 
would  bring  tears  into  my  eyes.  The  ordinary  cruel- 
ties of  boys  to  animals  and  one  another  were,  to  me, 
revolting  even  to  think  of  My  confidence  in  my 
fellows  was  unbounded ;  to  deceive  me  was  so  easy, 
that  the  boys  amused  themselves  with  hoaxing  me  in 
the  most  ridiculous  ways. 

From  the  moment  of  receiving  that  flogging, 
strange  suspicions  entered  my  mind.  Its  virgin  inno- 
cence and  goodness  were  darkened  by  Doubt's  poi- 
sonous fumes ;  I  looked  round  on  my  comrades  in  the 
pure  consciousness  of  wishing,  not  only,  not  to  harm, 
but  to  benefit  them  all,  and  I  saw  malignant,  imper- 


MEMOIKS  "of   DUDLEY   MONDEL.  281 

fectly  balanced  intelligences,  capable  of  causing  me 
pain  for  mere  caprice,  and  of  deriving  pleasure  from 
my  suflPerings ;  I  was  brutally  attacked,  I  defended 
myself  fiercely.  At  first,  they  misunderstood  tlie 
borror  with  wbicb  I  shrunk  from  a  personal  contest 
— from  the  idea  of  causing  jpain — for  cowardice. 
They  were  soon  undeceived.  No  superiority  of 
strength  or  skill  was  available  against  a  boy  who 
would  have  died  rather  than  own  himself  defeated, 
and  who  was  ever  ready  to  renew;  an  unequal  strug- 
gle, rather  than  endure  an  insult. 

After  a  time,  it  ceased  to  enter  any  boy's  head  to 
lay  a  finger  on  me ;  and  yet  I  can  truly  say  that  if- 
they  respected  me,  not  a  boy  in  the  school  feared  me. 
By  degrees,  they  came  to  learn  that  my  life  was 
difl:erent- firom  theirs,  and  many,  from  some  myste- 
rious instinct,  treated  me  as  one  whose  future  was  to 
be  famous  and  honored. 

Dear  young  friends !  never,  never  shall  I  forget 
those  prophecies  of  boyish  aifection  destined  in  all 
probability  to  be  so  dimly  and  imperfectly  realized ! 

"  Tliink,"  said  yoimg  T ,  as  I  strolled  with  him 

and  II (the  nephews  of  Sir  J famous  as  the 

friend   of    Lord    B and    a    cabinet    minister), 

"  think  wliat  a  capital  anecdote  that  running  away 
will  make,  when  you  are  dead,  and  they  write  a  big 
Hfe  of  you,  like  M 's  life  of  B 1 


282  THE   SLAVE   OF   TIIE   LAMP. 

O,  exquisite,  because  unconscious  flattery  of 
youthful  faith  and  friendship  !  "  When  I  am  dead 
— ^yes,  that  is  the  way  of  the  world.  So  *much  is 
done  for  us  after  we  are  dead!  Think  of  Chatterton 
and  Edgar  Foe ! 

It  is  well  for  a  Lord  Byron  to  wait  for  death,  and 
a  Tom  Moore  to — hum  his  niemoirs.  A  poor  soldier 
of  fortune  may  as  well  let  the  world  have  the  chance 
of  showing  him  some  sympathy  hefore  that  interest- 
ing composition,  the  "  funeral  service,"  is  read  over 
his  remains.  Even  egotism  itself  may  be  excused, 
when  we  reflect  that  the  alternative  is  to  have  one's 
•memoirs  hurned  at  the  request  of  one's  amiable  rela- 
tives, by  the  d -d  good-natm-ed  friend  to  whom 

they  have  been  confidingly  intrusted ! 

But  you,  dear,  dear  Columlna,  type  of  the  land 
whose  name  you  ought  to  bear,  you  will  not  burn 
Tny  memoirs,  and  perhaps,  some  day,  even  Old  Eng- 
land, and  the  highly  respectable  family  of  Mondel, 
will  confess  that,  however  indiscreet  the  exposure, 
there  is  a  retributive  justice  in  the  sternly  faithful 
record  of  an  exiled  kinsman's  sufi'erings. 

As  for  the  world  at  large,  it  can  dispense  with  a 
little  modesty  for  the  sake  of  so  formidable  an  instal- 
ment of  truth,  as  the  revelation  of  a  whole  human 
life  must  necessarily  prove. 

To  return  to  my  narrative :  I  was  fourteen  years 


MEMOIES  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         283 

old,  I  had  attained  the  highest  classical,  mathe- 
matical prizes,  as  also  that  for  drawing — that  is, 
copying  those  chalk  and  pencil  sketches  which,  in 
an  English  drawing  master's  opinion,  is  a  sufficient 
initiation  in  the  mysteries  of  art  for — a  gentleman 
who  is  certain  not  to  become  an  artist. 

I  think — oh,  vanity  of  youth  ! — I  really  tliink  I 
should  have  carried  off  the  prize  for  dancing^  as  well 
as  Greek,  had  I  not  committed  the  impropriety  of 
kissing  the  dancing-master's  daughter,  a  little  fairy 
in  white  muslin,  with  lace-frilled  trousers,  whom  I 
met  at  a  juvenile  ball  we  gave  at  the  end  of  the 
half  year. 

JSTothing  is  so  apt  to  get  one  into  scrapes  as  kissing 
without  reflection.  To  all  young  men  I  would  say, 
thinli,  twice  Ijcfore  you  Mss  anylody,  hovjever  j^rctty. 
It  is  the  first  step  that  counts  ! 

Alas!  I  have  wept  more  tears  in  consequence  of 
random,  unpremeditated  kisses,  than  for  all  other 
causes  put  together ! 

Oh,  I  would  solemnly  warn  all  the  youth  of 
Europe,  'Asia,  Africa,  America,  Austraha  and  the 
Polynesian  Isles,  above  all  things  never,  never  to 
kiss  an  ugly  woman,  because  it  is  easy !  for  as  sm-e  as 
you  do  it,  you  will  immediately  afterwards  encoun- 
ter an  angel  of  beauty,  and  the  ugly  woman  will  tell 
her    that  you  kissed    her,    and    you    may  dio    of 


284  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

despair  perhaps,  for  a  moment's  tliouglitless  extrava- 
gance. 

Many  a  man  has  wrecked  his  life  and  happiness 
on  a  word,  a  look,  but  how  many  thousands  have 
eternally  damned  themselves — by  a  kiss ! 

Give  anything  in  charity,  gold,  time,  work,  your 
life,  if  you  will,  but  never  give  a  Mss  out  of  pity  ! 

"Waste  your  all  in  gambling,  in  wine,  in  every  pos- 
sible folly,  but  economize  your  kisses ! 

They  rise  up  in  judgment  against  you,  like  lies, 
and  indeed  lies  they  are,  for  there  is  but  one  kiss 
that  man  or  woman  should  ever  give,  and  that  is  the 
kiss  of  true  love,  the  seal  of  ineffable  happiness  ! 

For  my  part,  I  will  kiss  the  true  kiss,  or  by  my 
hopes  of  hai^piness,  I  will  never  kiss  again  ! 

Of  late  a  German  teacher  was  added  to  my  usual 
inflictions.  Why  I  was  to  learn  German — I,  alone 
of  all  the  boys,  was  a  mystery.  But  I. found  it  a 
relief;  Professor  Jacobi,  was  a  good  fellow,  and 
talked  with  me  on  general  topics.  Like  many  teachers 
of  languages,  he  rightly  conceived  that  it  was  his 
pupil's  fault  if  he  wasted  the  hour  for  which  he  paid. 
So,  although  I  did  not  learn  German,  I  learned  a 
great  deal  about  Germany,  and  things  in  general. 
Professor  Jacobi  was  no  sage  or  prophet,  but  he  was 
the  first  man  I  had  met,  who  talked  to  me  like  a 
man,  and  for  that  I  liked  him. 


JVtEMOmS   OF   DUDLEY    ilO^TDEL.  285 

The  mystery  was  now  unveiled.  I  was  to  complete 
mj  education  on  the  continent. 

My  father  Avas,  I  fancy,  glad  to  get  a  son,  rapidly 
approaching  adolescence,  out  of  the  way,  and  to 
enjoy  the  society  of  his  young  and  pretty  wife,  undis- 
tm-hed.  As  for  me,  the  idea  of  travel  was  enchanting 
to  my  adventurous  fancy. 

I  paid  a  farewell  visit  to  my  schoolfellows; 
but  already  1  was  a  man,  and  they  were  boys 
in  my  eyes.  I  had  left  school !  Sublime  reflection  ! 
I  was  going  abroad,  I  was  about  to  be/r^d  / 

O!  sweet,  sweet,  liberty!  how  cheerfidly  have  I 
since  sacrificed  at  thy  shrine  the  most  brilliant 
chances  of  fortune,  rank,  place,  power,  even  popu- 
larity !  for  what  is  all  the  gold  and  honor  in  the 
world,  unless  a  man  be  sovereign  of  himself  f 

Like  Satan,  I  have  preferred  to  reign  in  hell,  to 
serving  in  heaven.  I  have  preferred  the  wild  liberty 
of  the  oft  penniless  poet,  to  the  ease  and  luxury  of 
the  prince's  parasite,  the  partisan  politician,  the 
dependent  heir. 

I  have,  it  is  true,  walked  on  the  margin  of  the 
abyss  of  despair.  In  my  fearlessness  of  deatli,  I  have 
been  driven  to  seek  the  courage  to  live.  But  my 
will  has  been  my  law,  my  dull-souled  oppressors 
have  been  shaken  off  with  scorn ;  my  purpose  has 
been  maintained,  my  aims,  one  by  one,  accomplished, 


286  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAJMP. 

and  now — I  risk  all  once  more,  upon  a  cast  of  the 
die,  still  lord  and  master  of  my  fate,  still  firm  in  tlie 
maintenance  of  my  eternal  code  and  its  three  magical 
words,    Victory  or  Death. 

Another  delightful  discovery !  I  was  to  have  no 
private  tutor  to  spy  and  watch  over  me.  I  was  to  be 
entrusted  to  the  care  of  a  certain  high  government 
functionary,   en   retraite    (at    the   well-known  town 

of  B n),  a  friend  of  my  father's  and  of  Major 

the  father  of  Mrs.  T .     This  gentleman  was 

to  receive  me  into  his  family,  and  treat  me  with 
paternal  consideration.  Admirable  old  friend!  I 
sh'all  never  forget  his  kindness,  or  that  of  his  lady, 
and  her  accomplished  daughter  and  son. 

It  is  the  only  true  glimpse  of  happy  domestic  life 
I  have  ever  enjoyed.     But  I  anticipate  events. 

My  father  accompanied  me  to  B n.    "We  took 

the  steamer  to  Antwerp,  and  thence,  by  way  of  Brus- 
sels, Liege,  and  Aix  la  Chaj)elle,  reached  Cologne, 
whence  a  second  steamer  conveyed  us  to  our 
destination. 

At  Antwerp  and  Brussels,  the  magnificent  picture 
galleries,  for  the  first  time,  awoke  in  me  that  love  of 
art,  which  has  ever  since  made  painting  my  most 
beloved  recreation,  I  may  even  venture  to  say,  that 
by  the  most  round-about  and  irregular  ways  in  the 
world,  I  became  eventually  an  artist,  rather  than  an 


MEMOmS   OF  DUDLEY   MONDEL.  287 

amateur,  since  for  many  months  of  my  life,  at  vari- 
ous periods,  I  have  owed  my  bread  to  my  brush  or 
pencil,  when  all  other  resources  failed  me. 

It  was  at  B n,  that  I  learned  the  manij)ulation 

of  the  colors  used  in  oil-painting.  But  these  too,  I 
merely  cppied.  The  true  knowledge  of  the  theory 
and  practice  of  art,  was  to  be  acquired  at  a  later 
period  in  the  studios  of  that  rising  school  of 
English  painters,  who,  if  my  personal  friendship  and 
the  love  they  bore  me,  deceive  me  not,  are  destined 
to  become  the  great  regenerators  of  the  art — the 
Titians  and  Da  Yincis  of  the  future ! 

My  education  it  will  be  perceived,  was  such  as 
befitted  a  man  predestined  to  fortune  and  worldly 
position. 

Besides  the  usual  scholastic  routine,  I  was 
instructed  in  every  athletic  accomplishment.  Riding, 
swimming,  fencing,  the  use  of  various  arms,  and 
gymnastic  exercises,  were  by  no  means  neglected. 
At  the  age  of  seventeen,  I  was  "  a  cavalier,  like  other 
cavaliers;"  to  quote  the  description  of  Goethe's 
incomparable  Mephistophiles. 

I  also  2;idistinguished  myself  by  di'inking  the  best 
wines,  serenading  the  prettiest  girls,  fighting  rapier- 
duels,  %vith  young  fire-eaters  as  wild  as  myself,  and" 
finally,  by  falling  in  love  with  the  most  beautiful  girl 
in  Germany — and  to  me,  at  that  period,  Germany  was 


288  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE    LAMP. 

the  world,  for  in  fact,  though  not  a  German  by  hirth, 
I  was  a  student  at  a  German  University. 

My  complexion  was  at  that  time,  pure  and  fresh  as 
a  rose ;  my  long  hair  fell,  after  the  student  fashion,  in 
curling  abundance  on  my  shoulders  ;.*  my  eyes  were 
clear  as  the  heavens,  which  I  contemplated  from  an 
hundred  mountain  summits,  in  my  dailf  rambles,  on 
foot  or  on  horseback ;  my  figure  was  erect,  supple, 
strong — in  a  word,  I  was  then  on  the  threshold  of 
manhood,  and  in  the  bloom  of  youthful  pride  and 
vigor.  I  was  not  yet^  as  I  soon  afterwards  became, 
a  Slave  of  the  Lamp. 

J^evertheless,  I  was  a  devourer  of  books  from  my 
childhood.  Before  I  was  twelve  years  of  age,  I  had  as 
I  have  described,  read  Shakspere's  plays  and  Scott's 
novels.  1  had  read  Fielding  and  Smollett;  I  had 
^  read  all  Milton's  poems,  and  numerous  other  British 
classics.  At  fifteen,  Byron  and  Shelly  fell  into  my 
hands,  and,  for  the  first  time,  showed  me  the  darker 
side  of  life,  as  well  as  its  more  brilliant  joys.  Then 
I  was  in  Germany,  and  Goethe  and  Schiller, 
Hoftman,  Wieland,  Heine,  and  a  host  of  others 
became  my  familiar  spirits.  I  fell  in  with  Yoltaire, 
and  new  fields  of  speculation  were  opened  to  me. 

Let  me  here  revert,  for  an  instant,  to  my  school 
days.  I  was  about  thirteen ;  my  father  was  abroad ; 
I  had  to  pass  the  holiday  s  in  part  at  T G . 


MEMOmS  OF  DUDLEY  MOKDEL.         289 

One  day  I  sm-reptitiously  entered  the  drawing-room 
by  the  window,  and  possessed  myself  of  a  superb 
copy  of  Byi'on's  Don  Juan.  "With  intense  greediness 
I  read  the  first  three  cantos.  I  was  in  raptures — not 
so  much  with  the  humor  and  the  voluptuous  fascina- 
tion of  the  descriptions,  but  with  the  magic  ease 
of  the  versification. 

Two  years  later,  I  composed  a  poem  of  some 
hundreds  of  stanzas  in  the  same  metre — the  octo/oe 
rime.  I  mastered  it  at  once.  Rhyming  was  to  me 
second  nature.  My  verse  was  fluent  and  correct  at 
the  first -attempt.  It  took  me  a  long  time  to  learn  to 
write  prose — that  is,  to  learn  to  sj^eak  on  pajper. 

If  orators  would  only  learn  to  write  in  sjyeech ! 
How  much  vapid  windy  verbahsm  we  should  be 
spared  at  public  meetings  and  in  political  assem- 
blies ! 

At  the  same  time,  I  had  eagerly  perused  elemen- 
tary works  on  the  natural  sciences,  and  all  the  history 
I  could  lay  my  hands  on.  I  was  ambitious  of 
universal  knowledge,  and  universal  distinction.  1 
wrote  tales  and  poems,  both  in  English  and  German, 
and  even  in  the  Latin  language.  I  began  to  aim 
at  inventions  in  machinery ;  I  attended  a  course  of 
chemical  lectures,  by  the  most  celebrated  professor 
of  chemistry  in  Germany.  My  soul  was  of  a  grasp- 
ing   and    assimilating    nature ;    its    cravings    were 

13 


290  THE  SLAYE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

nnappeasable.    I  never    retired  to  rest  without    a 
book  and  a  reading  lamp,  and  too  often  I  read  till 
the  break  of  dawn  reminded  me  of  the  necessity  for 
repose.     It  was  a  wonder  my  health  did  not  suffer. 
Irregular  in  my  system  of  study,  I  attempted  works 
unequal  to  my  strength.     Before  I  was  sixteen,  J 
translated    Goethe's     Faust    into     English     verse 
Impatient  of   insti'uction,  I  profited    little  by   my 
masters.     I  drew  caricatures  of  the  professors  at  the 
lectures,  instead  of  taking  notes,  and  practised  pistol- 
shooting  with  my  French  teacher  instead  of  listening 
to    his    expositions.     Yet  I    acquired    the  -French, 
German,  and  Italian  languages,  almost  without  an 
effort,  impelled  by  a  keen  cui-iosity  to  read  the  books 
I  obtained.     It  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  acquired  lan- 
guages by  some  wonderful  process  of  induction.     As 
soon  as  I  knew  a  few  words,  I  gmessed,  or  rather 
reasoned  out,  by  imperceptible  logic,  the  meaning  of 
others.    For  example,  I  can  read  Spanish,  yet  I  never 
devoted  three  hours  to  its  study.     Grammars  and 
dictionaries  I  patronized   little.     Language  was  my 
element.     Li  it  I  lived  and  moved,  and  had  my  being. 
Metres  in  versification  were  to  mo  hke  the  sciences 
of   music — a  mathematical  system,   an  unutterable 
necessity  to  composition.     I  scarcely  ever  wrote  an 
incorrect  line  even  in  my  childhood.     I  listened  with 
a  smile  to  my  companions  who  talked  of  writing  by 


MEMOmS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         291 

ear,  and  then  falsified  their  mimbers.  Such  faults 
were  in  mj  eyes  unpardonable.  A  line  with  a  false 
accent,  or  a  wanting  or  superfluous  syllable  was 
simply,  to  my  mind,  no  verse  at  all,  a  ridiculous 
blunder,  a  thing  beneath  all  criticism.  Indeed  it  is 
only  in  the  English  tongue,  that  such  barbarous 
fallacies  as  poetical  liberties  are  practicable.  In  my 
eyes,  they  are  still  abominations.  A  poet  has  no 
more  right  to  make  a  false  verse,  in  order  to  squeeze 
in  an  idea,  than  has  an  artist  to  violate  perspective, 
in  order  to  bring  two  objects  iu  juxtaposition. 

It  was  shortly  after  my  arrival  at  B n,  that  a 

proposition  was  made  to  me  to  become  the  companion 
and  fellow-student  of  the  present  reigning  Grand- 
duke  of        *         *         *         -  ^^   ^1^^^  ^jjj^g^  nearly 

of  my  own  age.  I  declined  the  proposition  instantly, 
without  even  appreciating  the  compliment,  though  I 
was  to  have  received  instruction  with  the  young 
prince,  and  have  been  his  most  intimate  associate. 
But  I  had  in  my  soul  the  pride  of  fifty  princes,  and 
the  idea  of  becoming  a  dependent,  a  courtier,  a 
parasite,  was  to  me  inconceivable.  But  for  this 
haughty  love  of  independence,  I  might  perhaps  at 
this  moment  have  been  a  titled  minister,  covered 
with  stars  and  orders,  and  the  delight  of  my  worldly 
relatives ;  I  preferred  my  liberty,  and  I  prefer  it 
still. 


292  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

I  pass  over  the  first  two  years  of  my  residence  on 
tlie  liliine.  They  were  years  of  study  and  reading, 
and  charming  associations. 

Herr   K ,  in  whose    house    I  was    domiciled^ 

was  an  ex-minister  of  Jerome  Kapoleon,  ex-king 
of  Westphalia.  He  was  very  much  like  a  French 
courtier  of  the  olden  time  in  his  manners,  and  a 
pure  Yoltarian  skeptic  in  his  opinions.  With  regard 
to  religious  matters,  he  had  a  remarkably  humorous 
way  of  laying  his  finger  against  his  large  aquiline 
nose,  elevating  his  grey  bushy  eyebrows,  smiling 
with  every  part  of  his  face  but  his  mouth,  and  saying 
gravely — "  No  eye  has  seen,  no  ear  has  heard." 
This  was  probably  a  quotation ;  w^here  from  I  never 
knew.  Nor  did  the  fine  old  gentleman  ever  moral- 
ise, though  he  frequently  impressed  upon  me  that 
dissipation  was  injurious  to  the  health,  and  that 
health  was  the   sine  qua  non  of  enjoyment. 

His  age  I  never  knew.  He  must  have  been  then 
near  eighty.  His  wife's  brother,  the  Colonel  (who 
was  at  Waterloo  when  only  sixteen),  gravely  assured 
me  one  day  that  since  his  sister's  marriage  he  had 

never  observed  any  perceptible  change  in  K , 

who  was  nevertheless  as  brisk  as  a  young  man,  and 
who  played  his  game  at  Vonibre  at  his  club  every 
evening  with  immutable  regularity. 

"  I  win  two  hundi-ed  dollars  a  year,"  said  the  old 


MEMOIRS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         293 

diplomatist  confidentially.     "  It  keeps  me  in  pocket 
money." 

Colonel  von  E, was  a  fine  old  German  Laron, 

and  a  popular  officer  with  liis  regiment,  which  was 

one  of  rifles,  and  then  stationed  at  W w,  beyond 

Frankfort.     But  his  great  merit  was — ^his  daughter. 

She  came  with  him  to  B n,  to  the  wedding  of 

Miss  K- ■,  her  cousin. 

They  talked  much  about  her  beforehand.  At 
length  she  arrived.  She  was  eighteen ;  a  noble, 
beautiful  girl ;  tall,  with  dark  brown  hair,  a  fair 
complexion,  and  soft  eyes, — a  figure  from  which  to 
model  Graces  ;  in  a  word,  she  was  enchanting. 

I  was  no  longer  a  boy ;  I  had  just  revisited  England 

with  young  K and  my  inseparable  friend,  the 

Polish  Baron  de  Eominski ;  I  had  experienced  new 
sensations,  become  a  new  being.  Body  and  mind 
had  with  my  changed  life  and  under  the  exhilarating 
influence  of  liherty^  become  matured  with  unusual 
rapidity.  Every  stranger  supposed  me  to  be  two  or 
three  years  older  than  I  really  was. 

I  saw  Rosalie,  and  a  new  life  was  revealed  to  me. 
I  had  imagined  love  before,  now  I  knew  it.  The 
light  of  beauty  descended  upon  my  soul.  I  gazed 
and  dreamed  and  formed  vague  plans.  Life  began 
to  assume  a  form.  With  every  day  the  thoughts  and 
cares  of  manhood  grew  more  upon  me. 


294  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

I  became  indifferent  to  the  Bacchanalian  orgies 
of  the  students.  Nevertheless,  one  evening,  at  my 
rooms,  took  place  a  grand  drinking  bout.  I  lived  at 
an    hotel,    overlooking    the    Rhine,    in    which   the 

K 8  had  a  suite  of  apartments,  and  I  my  separate 

rooms. 

In  conclusiofa,  long  after  midnight,  the  band  of 
intoxicated  students  ran  wildly  about  the  hotel, 
changing  the  localities  of  all  the  boots  and  shoes, 
and  possessing  themselves  of  Rosalie's,  the  shoe- 
strings of  which  they  divided  in  small  pieces,  and 
swore  to  preserve  as  sacred  relics  to  their  dying 
days. 

I  was  myself  far  too  elevated  by  the  many  flasks  of 
golden  Rudesheimer  and  sparkling  Moselle,  to  observe 
clearly  what  was  going  on.  The  next  day  I  was 
severely  enlightened.  Rosalie  was  evidently  deeply 
offended.  She  would  not  speak  to  me  for  a  long  time ; 
at  length  I  extorted  from  her  the  cause  of  her  anger. 

"To  allow  my  name,"  she  said,  "to  be  made  a 
theme  for  the  jests  of  a  parcel  of  drunken  students !" 

I  said  little,  but  fixed  on  the  three  most  promi- 
nent actors  in  the  scene  of  the  previous  night,  and  at 
once  challenged  them  severally,  not  to  an  ordinary 
rapier  duel,  but  to  a  meeting  with  the  sabre,  as  usual 
with  military  men  in  Germany,  and  amongst  stu- 
dents, for  the  gravest  offences.      A  duel  with  the 


MEMOrBS   OF   DUDLEY   M0NDj2L.  295 

sabre  is,  in  my  opinion,  more  dangerous  than  with 
the  pistol.  However,  in  this  case,  two  of  the  chal- 
lenged disclaimed  all  share  of  the  shoe-string,  and 
the  third  backed  out  on  the  ground  that  he  had 
pledged  his  honor  to  his  father  (who  was  a  clergy- 
man), never  to  fight  a  duel.  It  is  not  half  so  brave 
a  world  as  it  would  make  believe.     My  fiiend  the 

Count  jST ,  called  out  six  young  noblemen  of  the 

best  families  in  Prussia,  but  insisted  on  the  j^stol  as 
a  weapon.  The  result  was,  an  offer  to  meet  him  with 
the  rapier ;  declined  on  the  ground  that  N — ■ — •  never 

practised    fencing.      Finally,  IST accepted    the 

rapier  on  condition  that  every  contest  with  the  sword 
should  be  followed  by  one  with  the  pistol.  Kefused. 
Negotiations  followed  negotiations.    Finally,  no  one 

fought ;  N ,  was  triumphant.     For  my  part,  T 

believe  nine  men  out  of  ten  to  be  natural  poltroons. 

In  the  Count's  case,  it  was  known  that  he  was  a 
good  shot,  and  he  had  let  slip  the  remark,  that  six 
Pi-ussians,  each  with  the  left  ear  shot  off,  would  cut 
a  queer  figure. 

But  the  six  brave  young  noblemen  declined  to 
submit  themselves  to  the  experiments  of  so  dextrous 
an  artist. 

An  orthodox  rapier  duel  is  or  was  a  burlesque 
affair.  We  fought  for  the  sake' of  fighting.  On 
a  given  day  twenty  or  thirty  "  affaii-s  "  would  come 


296  THE    SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

off  in  a  forest  near  the  city.  The  belligerent  parties 
were  enveloped  in  a  padded  leather  apron  tied  under 
the  arms  ;  a  huge  stock  round  the  neck  and  absorb- 
ing the  chin,  a  cap  with  a  large  shade,  and  an 
immense  gamitlet  on  the  right  arm,  completed  the 
arrangements. 

Then  at  it  they  went  on  the  word  los  (set-to!) 
uttered  by  the  seconds,  who  stood  by,  sword  in  hand, 
ready  to  interpose  their  swords  on  either  party  being 
touched.  The  result  would  be  a  cut  nose  or  cheek, 
which  a  piece  of  sticking-plaster,  or  at  worst,  a  needle 
and  thread  would  remedy,  though  many  were  perma- 
nently disfigured  in  these  ridiculous  contests.  The 
rapiers  are  very  sharp  at  the  edge.  It  is  all  cutting, 
no  thrusting  is  allowed ;  I  had  a  cut  myself  under 
the  lip,  which  has  left  absolutely  no  trace,  though 
the  scar  did  not  entirely  disappear  for  many  years. 
These  duels  generally  originated  in  wanton  jests  or 
drunken  insults. 

Although  all  young  men,  especially  at  universities, 
or  in  the  army,  are  inevitably  impressed  by  the 
atmosphere  in  which  they  move,  I  made  up  my  mind 
very  resolutely  not  to  allow  the  Gei-man  students' 
absurd  code  of  honor — literally  a  code  as  long  as  an 
act  of  Congress — to  interfere  with  my  reasonable 
independence.  Many  of .  the  "  fighting  "  men  at 
B n  practised  with  the  rapier  from  morning  till 


MEMOIRS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         297 

night,  and  I  was  warned  to  avoid  quarrelling  with 
these  blood-thirsty  gentry.  My  answer  was  very 
simple,  "  I  never  will  meet  such  fellows  with  such 
weapons.  If  I  meet  them  it  will  be  seriously,  with 
chest  exposed,  sabre  or  pistol  in  hand."  I  was  rarely 
molested.  Bullies  and  ruffians  are  n&ver  really  brave. 
They  rarely  attack  those  whom  they  cannot  hope  to 
intimidate. 

But  with  all  their  love  of  amateur  fighting,  I  must 
mention  one  fact  to  the  credit  of  the  German  student. 
He  does  not  admit  of  a  blow  even  as  an  insult.  To 
stiike  a  fellow-student  is  to  insure  being  sent  to 
Coventry  by  the  decree  of  the  Presidents  or  Seniors 
of  the  Clubs,  in  convention  assembled. 

On  the  other  hand  "  snobs,"  that  is  tradesmen,  &c., 
may  be  caned  or  thrashed  to  any  extent.  The  student 
assumes  that  it  is  absurd  to  apply  codes  of  honor  to 
inferior  orders  of  being,  who  cannot  possibly  under- 
stand them. 

The  student  drinks — that  is  his  grand  characteristic 
— ^he  drinks  beer  by  the  cask,  wine  by  the  dozen 
bottles.  lie  smokes  long  pipes,  with  great  china 
bowls,  eternally.  At  night  he  pervades  the  streets  in 
his  robe-de-chambre  and  slippers,  pipe  in  hand,  on 
his  way  to  his  eluh,  tliat  is— a  private  drinking 
saloon.  In  parties  of  four  he  serenades  the  profes 
sors'  daughters.    In  parties  of  fifty  he  makes  excur 

13* 


298  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

sions  wliicli  result  in  a  Commenscli  or  extra  drinking 
bont.  Since  1848  tlie  student,  however,  is  no  longer 
the  student  of  my  experience.  He  has  become  a 
politician,  and  is  spied  by  the  police  as  mice  are  by 
cats.  Still  he  drinks  hugely,  but  reserves  much  of 
his  fighting  propensity  for  the  grand  coming  day  of 
Eevolution,  when,  as  at  Vienna,  he  will  once  more 
strike  for  fatherland  and  liberty. 

I  yet  Tiojpe  to  see  a  free  Germany.  But  since  the 
miserable  failure  of  the  last  great  struggle,  I  no 
longer  venture  to  prophesy. 

Time  passed  on,  Miss  K was  married   to   a 

Captain  of  Rifles,  the  accomplished  C r,  a  musi' 

cian,  composer,  and  author,  .who  nearly  killed  a 
brother  oflicer  in  a  sabre  duel,  without  ever  having 
practised  the  use  of  the  weapon,  and  who  eventually, 
I  heard,  quitted  the  army,  and  devoted  himself  to  the 
gentler  services  of  the  Muses  altogether. 

I  read  to  Rosalie  the  works  of  Byron  in  a  German 
translation,  and  was  wrapt  up  in  her  contemplation, 
dreamed  of  her,  and  wrote  of  her,  and  loved  her  till 
I  brought  on  a  fever,  which  might  have  become 
dangerous,  as  I  refused  all  medicines.  But  Rosalie 
came,  and  at  her  hands  I  would  have  taken  poison. 
I  recovered.  I  still  loved  on,  and  worked  up  my 
imagination  to  the  idea  that  my  love  was  eternal  and 
incm'able.    Rosalie  returned  to  her  father's  home.    I 


MEMOIRS   OF   DUDLEY   MONDEL.  299 

felt  myself  attracted  to  lier  as  a  needle  by  a  magnet. 

B n  was  to  me  no  longer  of  any  interest,  since  the 

Baron  de  Rominski,  my  friend  (an  artist  and  poet 
too,  in  his  own  sweet  Polish  tongue,  which  he  began 
to  teach  me),  was  going  to  Paris.  I  therefore 
resolved  to  go  to  Berlin,  and  on  the  way  to  visit  the 

Colonel  at  W .    He  had  given  me  a  frank  iv^- 

tation,  and  Eosalie  confirmed  it. 

I  wrote  to  my  father,  and,  backed  hr  ^^^  ^^^^  o^^ 
Aulic  councillor  K ,  succeeded  m  getting  his  con- 
sent, and  ample  pecuniary  supplies. 

My  last  twenty-four  liom-s  at  B n  were  spent  in 

prison.  I  was  arvcisted  for  singing  in  the  street  with  a 
party  of  students  at  night,  and,  though  released  by  the 
watch  oD.  showing  my  card,  was  summoned  nest  day 
]->ciore  Herr  von  Solomon,  the  Univei:3ity  Judge,  and 
duly  sentenced  by  that  functionary,  in  the  following 
words : — 

"  Mr.  Mondel,  it  is  painful  to  me  to  inform  you 
that  you  will  have  the  kindness  to  put  yom-self  under 
arrest,  at  the  University  prison,  for  the  space  of 
twenty-four  hours." 

"  But  I  wish  to  start  to-day  for  Berlin." 

"  Oh !  in  that  case,  I  will  send  on  a  note  to  the 
authorities,  and  you  can  sit  out  your  twenty-four 
horn's  when  you  arrive  there." 

But  the  idea  of  cormnencing  my  abode  in  a  new 


300  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

city  by  going  to  prison,  appeared  to  me  even  less 
pleasant  than  concluding  it  in  such  a  manner.  So  I 
escorted  myself  quietly  to  the  prison,  and  informed 
the  jailer  that  I  had  come  to  eit  out  my  four-and- 
twenty  hours'  incarceration  ! 

"Walk  in,  sir,"  said  the  jailer,  politely;  "if  you 
wa^d-.  anything,  ask  for  it ;  wine,  coffee,  dinner,  any- 
thing yo^  please." 

"  Thank  yon,  I  Lave  just  breakfasted ;  what  society 
have  you  here  ?" 

"There  is  Herr  von  r ^  sir,  came  in  yesterday 

— booked  for  a  week." 

I  knew  Herr  von  P slighfty,  and  we  were 

soon  engaged  in  a  game  at  ecarte^  very  n^ich  to  the 

profit  of  the  Herr  von  P ,  and  very  little  to  my 

amusement;  a* I  have  not  a  particle  of  the  gambler 
in  my  composition. 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  play  amongst  the 
students  at  B ^n. 

P was  a  noted    gambler,  and  made  much 

money  out  of  innocent  young  gentlemen.  He 
belonged  to  the  most  aristocratic  clique,  and  it  was 
said  paid  his  expenses  out  of  the  losses  of  his  friends. 

P once    made   a  singular    bet  with   Count 

N (of  pistol-shooting  repute).    It  was  that  he 

would  sit  up  longer  at  eca/tte  than  N .     The  bet 

was  a  hundred  dollars.    They  sat  playing  for  six  and 


MEMOIRS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         301 

thirty  hours,  and  made  it  a  drawn  bet  by  mutual 

consent,   but    P had   won    two    hundred    and 

seventy-three  dollars  at  the  game. 

Why,  however,  do  I  linger  over  these  trivial  remi- 
niscences of  youth  ?    Let  me  hasten  with  my  story. 

I  followed  Rosalie  to  "W ,     I  stayed  there  a 

whole  month,  and  with  a  tremendous  effort  bade  her 
farewell,  and  continued  my  journey  to  Berlin.  On 
the  road  I  met  with  a  curious  example  of  honesty — 
I  dropped  a  roll  of  notes  at  a  wayside  inn,  where  I 
stopped  to  dine,  and  the  diligence  or  Schnell-post 
(quick-post,  liLCUs  a  non)  was  abeady  in  motion  when 
the  waiter  followed  me,  and  thrusting  his  hand  in  at 
the  window  gave  me  the  undiminished  roll  of  notes. 
I  had  not  even  time  to  separate  one  of  them  from  its 
fellows  and  give  it  to  the  poor  man  for  his  trouble. 

ISTothing  else  happened  on  the  road  worthy  of 
mention,  save  my  tragic  loss  of  dear  E. 's  part- 
ing present,  a  splendid  gold-headed  bamboo,  which 
slipped  out  of  the  window,  whilst  I  was  asleep,  from 
the  straps  at  the  top  of  the  vehicle.  I  would  rather 
have  lost  half  my  next  quarter's  income,  which  I 
carried  in  my  cai^iet  bag,  in  the  sliape  of  some  four 
hundred  five-franc  pieces — each  then,  practically 
worth  perhaps,  three  times  as  much  in  Berlin,  as  is 
now  a  dollar  in  New  York. 

When  I  reached  Berlin,  1  felt  myself  for  the  fii-st 


302  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAiEP. 

time  my  own  master.  I  tlirew  my  quarter's  income 
into  a  drawer  of  my  escretoire.  It  lasted  me  pre- 
cisely three  weeks,  instead  of  three  months.  How- 
ever, credit  and  friendly  loans  carried  me  on  to  the 
end  of  the  second  month,  when  I  ventured  on  an 
application  to  my  father,  and  was  supplied  with  the 
requisite  means,  accompanied  by  a  severe  lecture  and 
an  intimation  that  for  the  future  I  should  di'aw  a 
diminished  income  monthly  from  a  banker's.  How- 
ever, the  banker  was  accommodating,  and  I  managed 

to  keep  afloat,  with  the  assistance  of  my  friend,  A 

(the  son  of  Germany's  most  popular  living  poet.) 
We  made  common  purse,  and  were  rarely  utterly 
drained,  though  we  went  to  the  opera  regularly, 
drank  the  best  wine  we  could  discover,  and  made 
generally  as  profound  a  business  of  pleasure  as  most 
men  of  our  years,  and  position. 

On    my  first  arrival  in  the  Prussian  capital,  I 
presented  a  letter   of   introduction  from    Madame 

K to  the  Baroness  von  W ,   wife  of   the 

General  von  "W .    They  treated  me  with  unvary- 

ing  hospitality,  and  the  young  baron,  who  was  also  a 
Captain  in  the  Koyal  Guards,  volunteered  to  siiow  me 
Berlin  dtc  fond  en  comUe.  I  quote  his  ^wn  phraseo- 
logy. 

This  he  did,  but  what  mosC  interested  me  was  a 
lovely  girl  of  my  own  age,  who  sold  gloves  in  a  little 


MEMOmS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         303 

eliop  at  the  corner  of  the  Freclerich  Strasse,  close  to 
the  bridge. 

And  now  I  wish  to  do  what  no  modern  writer 
has  dared  to  do.  I  wish  to  tear  off  the  mask  of 
hypocrisy  with  which  men  insult  the  reason  and 
delude  the  fancy  of  women  in  polite  society  in 
England  and  America.  In  France  the  truth  is 
allowed  to  be  written  on  social  matters,  though 
political  discussion  is  forbidden.  With  us  we  may 
preach  any  political  doctrines  we  please,  but  it  is  an 
impropriety  to  allude  to  facts  of  univei*sal  import- 
ance of  the  greatest  social  interest.  It  is  not  of 
shocking  exceptions  but  of  general  truth  that  I  wish 
to  Speak. 

Men  do  not,  cannot^  lead  the  lives  of  women 
before  marriage.  ITo  man,  who  is  anything  or  any- 
body, ever  reaches  the  age  of  thirty  yeai-s  unmarried 
without  numerous  adventures  more  or  less  serious 
with  the  other  sex.  It  is  im/possible  from  the  consti- 
tution of  society  that  there  should  be  even  a  single 
exception  to  this  rule,  save  in  the  case  of  unfor- 
tunates who,  by  imprisonment,  ill-health  or  natural 
imbecility,  were  artificially  isolated.  My  experience 
of  the  young  men  of  tlie  upper  classes  of  society  in 
many  countries  justifies  me  in  saying  that  precisely 
those  men  who  have  been  stigmatised  as  roues  and 
libertines  have  been  generally  the  most  intellectual 


304  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

and  lionoraWe,  in  fact,  trnly  virtuous  men,  I  have 
met  with.  I  will  go  further,  the  man  in  whom  the 
passion  of  love  is  strongest  will  naturally  be  engaged 
in  most  adventures,  and  also  best  able  to  distinguish 
between  the  real  love  and  the  false.  The  man  who 
has  experience  has  also  appreciation.  In  a  word  it  is 
useless  to  condemn  that  which  is  universal. 

If  any  hypocrites,  or  would-be  saints,  deny  the 
fact — I  pity  them  sincerely  if  they  have  acted  up  to 
principles  which  Nature  imperatively  refutes. 

The  remedy  for  this  evil,  if  evil  it  be,  is  early 
marriage,  and  absolute  liberty  of  divorce.  People 
are  afraid  to  marry  from  the  idea  that  it  is  taking  a 
step  which  is  i/rremedidble,  that  it  is  risking  a  whole 
life's  happiness  in  a  chance.  How  wretchedly  wicked 
and  foolish  are  such  institutions  !  Make  divorce  as 
easy  as  marriage,  and  the  whole  class  of  degraded 
women  would  almost  instantly  vanish.  Even  men 
would  shrink  from  such  miserable  pleasures,  and,  at 
length,  the  first  real  ste^p  in  social  progress  would  be 
taken. 

As  there  are  degrees  in  love,  so  there  should  be 
variety  of  duration  in  marriage. 

To  enjoy  the  highest,  the  eternal  love,  is  the  privi- 
lege of  few,  to  the  many  should  be  given  at  least  the 
chance  of  finding  the  nearest  approximation  to  that 
ideal  felicity. 


MEMOmS  or  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         305 

Again,  when  a  man  once  does  experience  the  great 
passion,  how  absurd  to  reproach  him  with  the  minor 
caprices  of  the  past.  As  wisely  reproach  a  great 
poet  for  the  bad  verses  of  his  boyhood. 

All  yoimg  men  of  rank  and  culture,  are,  out  of 
sight  of  their  mothers  and  sisters,  theoretical  and 
practical  Don  Juans. 

In  this  creed  I  too  was  nurtured,  even  before  I 
knew  what  it  meant,  at  school.  In  after  life  it  never 
was  my  lot  to  find  any  circle  of  young  men  who  did 
not  possess  the  Don  Juanic  faith,  at  any  rate  up  to 
the  epoch  of  marriage. 

Of  married  men  I  shall  say  nothing :  I  dare  not. 
I  will  hope  that  my  friends  have  been  exceptions  to 
the  rule.  For  my  part  I  ^:>%  a  man  who  can  be 
uufoithful  to  his  wife.  I  could  not  bear  to  live  with 
a  woman  to  whom  I  could  be  unfaithful. 

The  pretty  glove-girl  charmed  me,  yet  I  still 
dreamed  of  Rosalie. 

Six  months  later  the  little  glove-girl  married  an 
old  Philistine^  as  all  non-students  or  citizens  are 
called  in  the  Bui'schen  tongue. 

I  was  in  a  moderate  state  of  pique. 

Four  years  later,  when  I  was  compelled  by  circum- 
stances to  abandon  all  hope  of  returning  to  Ger- 
many, to  demand  the  hand  of  Eosalie,  I  was  in  a 
state  of  despair. 


306  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 

So  vast  is  the  gulf  between  a  mere  intrigue  and  a 
love-dream,  however  vague. 

Five  years  later  Eosalie  was  married  to  a  judge, 
the  president  of  a  college  of  officials  in  Prussia.  I 
never  saw  her  after  my  departure  for  Berlin. 

I  think  it  must  be  admitted  that  the  love  of  boys  is 
rather  of  the  imagination  than  of  the  deeper  life, 
rather  of  the  senses  than  of  the  heart. 

At  Berlin  I  first  drank  deeply  and  eagerly  at  the 
inexhaustible  fountain  of  metaphysics.  At  that  time 
the  mind  of  the  studious  portion  of  the  German 
youth  was  absorbed  in  the  transcendental  philosophy 
of  Hegel  and  Schelling.  The  latter  was  still  alive, 
and  lecturing  at  the  University.  But  his  great  rival 
was  still  more  alive  in  the  souls  of  his  disciples.  At 
first  I  was  mystified  by  the  abstract  terms  employed. 
Then  I  understood,  and — O  monstrous  presumption 
of  boyish  audacity — I  cavilled  and  questioned.  I 
denied  that  the  substantial  matter  at  issue  in  all  phi- 
losophy was  really  affected  by  Hegel's  logic.  But  I 
seized  on  the  application  of  philosoj)hy  to  life.  I 
became  a  republican  amongst  republicans,  and 
helped  to  lay  the  seeds  of  the  revolution  which  in 
1848  shook  all  Europe  to  its  foundations. 

At  Berlin  I  continued  to  read  much,  and  to  disdain 
the  tedious  road  to  knowledge  which  the  lecture- 
rooms  offered.    Such  a  system  may  serve  minds  defi- 


MEMOIRS   OF  DUDLEY   MONDEL.  307 

cient  in  self-reliance,  and  temperaments  naturally 
slow.  To  the  born  student,  it  is  a  tiresome  obstacle 
to  the  enthusiastic  love  of  knowledge,  which  rests  not 
till  it  obtains  its  satisfaction. 

In  this  city  also  I  was  a  great  theatre-goer,  and 

accompanied  by  A ,  I  heard  at  the  Koyal  Opera 

those  masterpieces  of  music  to  which  the  world  is 
never  tired  of  listening.  My  friend,  who  lived  in  the 
same  house  with  me,  was  himself  a  fine  player  on  the 
pianoforte,  and  it  is  from  this  epoch  more  especially 
that  I  date  the  development  of  a  passionate  taste  for 
harmony,  and  a  fuller  appreciation  of  those  delights, 
without  which  poets  have  found  even  their  visions  ot 
heaven  incomplete. 

I  even  commenced  the  study  of  music"  as  a 
science,  and  attempted  to  compose  some  aira.  It 
will  be  seen  how  these  projects,  with  many  others 
of  my  universally  ambitious  idiosyncrasy,  were  frus- 
trated by  circumstances,  against  which  I  have  in  vain 
rebelled,  even  up  to  the  moment  of  this  present 
writing. 

But  hitherto  I  had  merely  led  a  life  of  prei)aration. 
I  had  been  a  child  of  fortune,  petted,  caressed,  and 
lapped  in  luxury.  If  tlie  early  shadows  of  my  family 
history  had  thrown  a  gloom  over  my  brilliant  student 
travels  and  studies,  it  needed  the  presentiment  of 
future  sorrows  to  afflict  me  with  that  melancholy 


308  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE  LAMP. 

wliich,  from  the  period  of  adolescence,  has  been  my 
inseparable  companion. 

Strange  to  say,  this  funereal  and  incnrable  gloom 
wbicb  has  ever  wrapped  me  as  in  a  mantle,  is  to  the 
eye  of  the  outer  world,  counterbalanced  by  a  sense 
of  hnmor,  and  what  I  may  truly  call,  a  vigor  of  mer- 
riment rarely  equalled.  But  it  is  a  foolish  blunder  to 
confound  mirth  with  enjoyment.  How  often  has  my 
loud  laugh  shaken  the  air,  when  within  my  heart  the 
vision  of  Death  sat  enthroned,  and  palpable  to  my 
soul !  How  often  have  I  seated  myself  to  write  the 
most  facetious  articles,  the  most  ludicrous  pieces  of 
versification,  by  an  effort  of  almost  superhuman  self- 
conquest  over  mental  anguish  and  depression. 
Dearest !  I  have  more  than  once  paused  over  a  half 
finished  tale,  or  at  the  end  of  the  first  act  of  a 
comedy,  to  ask  myself  the  solemn  question,  whether 
it  was  worth  while  to  torture  mv  brain  even  for  one 
instant  longer,  to  preserve  an  existence  so  utterly 
mortifying  and  miserable. 

Am  I  alone  an  isolated  example  ?  I  know  not.  I 
will  hope  that  few  have  suffered  as  I  have  suffered, 
in  the  age  of  so-called  civilization  we  live  in ! 

And  here  I  will  pause  to  cite  one  remark,  pro- 
found, terrible  and  indisputable,  in  answer  to  the 
cant  which  replies  to  the  agony  expressed  by  the 
great  thinkers  of  earth,  by  a  trivial  reference  to  the 


MEMOIRS   OF   DUDLEY   MONDEL.  309 

more  obvious  suiferincrs  of  beings  of  inferior  intelli 


gence. 


The  degree  of  suffering  is  in  proportion  to  the 
capacity  to  suffer.  The  strongest  nature  and  the 
loftiest  intellect,  are  subject  to  exquisite  tortures,  of 
which  the  boor  and  the  drudge  of  routine  is  unsus- 
ceptible. 

Again,  under  a  certain  amount  of  pain,  feeble 
natures  give  way :  delirium,  lunacy,  or  death,  come 
to  their  relief.  It  is  the  awful  privilege  of  the  strong 
to  bear — unbent,  unbroken,  still  to  bear. 

My  last  act  in  Germany  was  to  leave  Berlin  and 
bury  myself  in  the  midst  of  vast  pine  forests  on  the 
shore  of  the  Lake  of  Tegel.  There,  with  my  books, 
and  the  use  of  a  boat,  in  which  I  paddled  myself 
about  on  the  lake,  I  lived  in  utter  solitude  at  the 
house  of  a  forester,  an  old  soldier,  who  had  received 
his  place  as  a  reward  for  services  during  the  war 
against  Napoleon. 

Just  as  I  became  accustomed,  by  a  six  weeks'  expe- 
riment, to  this  new  and  meditative  communion  with 
nature,  I  received  a  summons  from  my  impatient 
and  unrpiiet  father,  who  was,  indeed,  ever  torment- 
ing me  with  his  restless  suspicion,  commanding  my 
immediate  return  to  England. 

I  returned  to  Berlin,  bade  farewell  to  my  friends, 
and  took  the  Sclmell-Post  for  Hamburgh.     It  was  a 


310  THE   SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

bitterly  cold  journey,  in  the  month  of  November,  and 
a  poor  yomig  actress  who  was  the  only  other  occu- 
pant of  the  spacious  vehicle  during  the  whole  jour- 
ney, was  nearly  frozen  to  death,  notwithstanding 
that  I  gave  her  my  over-shoes  and  thickest  cloak. 
Truly,  never  did  young  student  and  pretty  girl 
huddle  together  with  more  innocent  feehngs,  than 
did  we  during  that  terrible  three  days'  voyage.  It 
was  like  the  retreat  from  Moscow.  Meanwhile,  there 
was  heat  caught  elsewhere  ;  for,  during  our  jour- 
ney, Hamburgh  was  almost  entirely  burnt  to  the 
ground,  and  we  entered  a  city  over  which  the 
destroying  angel  appeared  to  have  passed. 

We  put  up  at  a  half-burnt  hotel,  and  three  days 
after,  with  many  kisses,  bade  one  another  farewell 
for  ever,  in  all  human  probability. 

I  took  the  steamer  for  London,  and  arrived  safely, 
despite  a  storm  of  the  most  violent  character. 
Kever  could  I  cross  even  the  straits  of  Dover  with- 
out a  storm ! 

I  met  with  a  cold  reception ;  and  not  a  week 
elapsed  before  my  father  desired  me  to  find  separate 
lodgings  for  myself.  He  preferred  the  additional 
expense  to  my  presence  in  his  house.  I  was  no 
longer  at  home. 

Already  I  felt  my  dependence  upon  my  father  an 
oppression. 


MEMOIRS  OF  DtnOLEY  MOimEL.  311 

On  my  return,  I  commenced  nominally  the  study 
of  the  law,  really,  the  pursuit  uf  literature,  as  the 
stepping-stone  to  fame  and  power. 

Whilst  forcing  myself  to  study  a  repugnant  pro- 
fession, from  a  sense  of  duty  towards  my  father,  1 
devoted  every  leisure  moment  to  reading  and  com- 
position. This  I  could  the  more  easily  do  that  I  had 
absolutely  no  friends  or  acquaintances  in  London. 
By  my  early  transj)lantation  to  Germany  I  had  lost 
sight  of  all  my  school-friends,  and  as  my  father  had 
separated  himself  from  all  his  old  connections,  on 
account  of  his  man*iage;  as,  moreover,  he  almost 
treated  me  as  a  stranger,  except  in  matters  of  pater- 
nal authority,  I  found  myself  in  the  most  isolated 
position  imaginable.  Brought  up  with  brilliant 
prospects,  and  accustomed  to  refined  society  and 
abundant  social  intercourse,  I  had  suddenly  strayed 
into  a  bleak  desert,  and  was,  for  the  first  time  in  my 
life,  alone  in  a  great  city. 

I  had  yet  to  learn  Jww  lonely  a  man  may  be  in  the 
midst  of  all  the  luxury  and  gaieties  of  a  vast  metro- 
polis, when  misfortime  segregates  him  from  his  fel- 
lows, and  he  becomes  indeed  as  one  having  a 
leprosy,  with  whom  no  man  may  hold  commu- 
nion. 

The  slavery  of  the  lamp  now  began ;  bnt  as  yet 
it  was  a  voluntary  servitude. 


312  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

A  humorous  incident  decided  my  first  appearance 
in  print. 

My  poems — imitations  of  Byron,  translations  of 
Scliiller,  Goethe,  &c., — being  very  wisely  rejected  by 
the  great  publishers,  I,  with  the  indomitable,  perti- 
nacity of  the  true  author,  commenced  laying  siege 
to  the  small  ones.  In  these  attacks,  I  had  no  guide, 
philosopher,  or  friend ;  in  my  innocence  I  walked 
into  the  first  bookseller's  shop  I  came  to,  who  affixed 
the  more  dignified  title  of  publisher  to  his  sign, 
and  confidently  proposed  to  make  his  fortune.  It 
was  from  one  of  the  poorest  and  humblest  of  the 
tribe,  that  I  received  the  following  amicable  counsel. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  printer,  publisher,  editor,  and 
compiler  of  '■'■  Brown's  Miscellaneous  Broad-sheet,^^ 
"  your  poetry  is  very  fine,  I  should  like  to  publish  it 
in  my  journal ;  but  as  I  shall  be  in  the  gazette 
next  week  (i.  e.  bankrupt),  I  cannot  indulge  my 
inclination.  Sir,  your  poetry  is  very  fine,  but 
poetry  does  not  pay.  You  are  too  high,  sir,  a  great 
deal  too  high.  Write  down  to  the  people,  sir,  write 
something  about  what  they  know  and  understand, 
and  you  will  succeed.  I  suppose  you  could  write 
prose — a  novel,  for  example  ?" 

"  I  could  write  anything,"  was  my  reply,  and  my 
modest  belief,  in  my  then  state  of  scribblomaniac 
fanaticism. 


MEMOIRS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         313 

"  Well,  write  down,  sir,  if  it  is  only  for  once  ia  a 
way,  just  to  try  the  experiment." 

"7   ^o^7Z,"    said    I    emphatically,    and  I  left  the 
pubhsher  to  his  reflections,  and  his  banki-uptcy.     I 
never  saw  him  more  ;  but  his  words  never  ceased  to 
ring  in  my  ears.     Of  their  wisdom  I  have  been  but 
too    well    convinced,   by    experience.     My  lightest, 
most  careless,   most    imperfect    eiforts    have    alone 
attained  popularity.     Tliose  works  in  which  I  have 
put  forth  all  my  strength,  in  which  I  have  as  it  were 
concentrated  my  life,  my  science,  and  my  art,  have 
been  passed  over  by  the  multitude  unnoticed.    For 
doing  what   hundreds  could   do   as  well,   or  better 
than  myself,  I  have  received  unqualified  testimonies 
of   approval.     For    accomplishing    what    no    other 
could  have  accomplished,  I  have  at  best  received  the 
qualified    applause  of  a  few  fi'iends  or  critics.     As 
every  original  man   can  do   certain  special  things, 
better  than  any  other,  I  do  not  by  the  above  sentence 
assert  any  arrogant  claim  to  superiority.     I  merely 
assert  a  claim  common  to  that  class  who  alone  can 
strictly    and    particularly    be    included    under    the 
denomination — ^Tliinkcrs   and  Poets.     I    may  be  the 
last  in  its  ranks,  but  to  this  class  I  naturally  pertain ; 
and  as  I  have  fairly  proved  my  claim  by  my  labora, 
I  have  never  yet  had  the  misfortune  to  hear  it  dis- 

14 


314  THE  SLATE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

pnted ;   if,  on  the  other   hand,  I   have   but    rarely 
heard  it  acknowledged  with  candor. 

I  sat  down  to  follow  the  advice  of  the  bankrupt 
publisher,  nor  did  I  underrate  his  advice  on  account 
of  his  own  failure.  Men  learn  wisdom  by  misfortune. 
I  obeyed  his  hint,  in  the  widest  acceptation  of  the 
word ;  for,  after  writing  poems  in  which  nothing  short 
of  princes,  knights,  grand  inquisitors,  and  magicians, 
were  admissible,  I  at  once  descended  to  the  very 
bottom  of  the  social  scale,  and  made  my  hero---a 
beggar.  Finding  novel-writing  easy,  in  my  utter 
ignorance  of  art,  I  soon  scribbled  half  a  dozen  chap- 
ters, and  having,  with  Machiavellian  foresight, 
prepared  a  dozen  different  titles,  all  adaptable  to  the 
same  embryo  novel,  I  once  more  sallied  forth  a 
literary  Don  Quixote,  in  search  of  a  publishing 
castle  to  storm. 

By  a  singular  chance  the  very  first  shop  I  entered 
was  the  very  best  in  London  I  could  have  selected. 
The  proprietors  were  enterprising  young  beginners, 
who  printed  cheap  illustrated  works,  of  an  unex- 
ceptionable class.  I  showed  them  my  catalogue  of 
titles  like  a  bagman,  who  shows  the  list  of  his 
goods. 

"  They  were  regarded  with  evident,  though  dis- 
guised, satisfaction." 


MEMOIRS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         315 

"  And  have  you  written  all  these  tales  ?"  said  the 
partner  with  whom  I  negotiated. 

"They  are  not  all  completed,"  said  I  coolly,  "but 
many  of  them  are  in  progress." 

The  publisher  selected  one  of  the  titles  as  particu- 
larly atti-active. 

"  Fortunately,"  said  I,  "  I  have  the  first  chapters  of 
that  very  tale  in  my  pocket,"  and  I  produced  my 
omnivorous  manuscript  with  a  slight  blush. 

"  If  you  will  call  again  the  day  after  to-morrow, 
you  shall  have  an  answ*er,"  said  the  publisher. 

Of  course  I  was  punctual.  The  publisher  asked 
but  one  question — the  price.  » 

I  was  so  dizzy  with  my  triumph,  and  the  prospect 
of  seeing  myself  in  print,  that  I  answered,  by  stating 
the  first  round  sum  that  came  into  my  head,  and 
which  happened  to  be  ten  pounds. 

"  "Wc  shall  require  twenty  numbers,  of  eight  pages 
each,"  said  the  publisher. 

I  acquiesced  without  reflection,  still  intoxicated 
with  my  success. 

Tlic  tale  appeared.  It  sold  by  some  thousands  of 
copies,  and  I  became  almost  immediately  the  editor 
of  an  illustrated  paper,  or  rather  weekly  magazine, 
which  I  supplied  witli  tales,  horrible,  sentimental  and 
comic,  with  editorial  leaders,  with  satirical  poems, 
puns,  wood-cuts  and  epigrams.     I  worked  awfully 


316  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

hard,  and  gained  about  as  large  an  income  as — most 
hack  writers,  and  lawyers'  clerks.  Some  years  later, 
when  I  really  strove  to  live  by  literature,  I  failed  to 
secure  so  good  an  income.  The  regular  newspaper 
editor  and  the  really  famous  author,  are  the  only  men 
who  can  live  decently  by  literature.  Magazine  and 
periodical  writing  in  all  its  branches,  high  and  low, 
is  a  mere  lottery  even  to  the  comj)aratively  lucky 
ones.  Ten  years  of  observation  and  personal  strug- 
gle enable  me  to  state  this  general  fact  so  decisively, 
that  I  venture  to  accuse  any  man  of  monomania  who 
voluntarily  persists  in  such  a  career.  Many  have  no 
choice  in  the  matter,  and  these  must  of  com-se  bend 
to  the  inevitable  destinies. 

In  ten  weeks  the  illustrated  paper  died.  The  novel 
was,  at  the  publishers'  request,  wound  up  summarily. 
I  killed  off  all  the  characters  in  my  hurry,  and  forgot 
Qven  to  leave  one  alive  to  tell  the  story.  The  pub- 
lishers absconded.     The  shop  was  to  let. 

My  father,  who  had  regarded  my  proceedings 
with  mingled  amazement  and  annoyance,  was  glad  to 
see  me  deprived  of  the  opportunity  of  scribbling. 
Indeed,  literary  life  is  all  ups  and  downs,  and  the 
down  had  now  arrived.  I  wrote  a  few  sketches  for 
some  obscure  papers,  and  then  found  no  further  open- 
ing. Under  these  circumstances,  I  rested  on  my  laur- 
els, gave  the  few  people  I  knew  nicely  boimd  copies 


MEMOIRS   OF   DUDLEY   MOKDEL.  317 

of  my  abruptly  wound-up  "biography  of  a  beggar," 
and  once  more  relapsed  into  law,  study,  and  isolation. 

A  droll  adventure  happened  to  me  at  this  period. 
An  elderly  gentleman  who  was  compiling  an  archaeo- 
logical romance,  advertised  for  literary  assistance.  I 
called  upon  him ;  and  he  requested  me  to  put  the 
sentiment  into  his  book,  "  which,  otherwise,"  he 
added,  "  I  must  cabbage  from  James  and  Bulwer,  for 
sentiment  is  out  of  my  line  !" 

However,  I  expressed  so  freely  to  him  my  views  as 
to  the  necessity  of  a  ^Zc^  to  a  romance,  that  we  dis- 
agreed about  terms,  and  parted,  like  my  two  friends 
who  went  to  see  the  sun  rise  on  a  foggy  morning,  and 
quarrelled  on  the  top  of  a  mountain — to  meet  no  more. 

I  now  commenced  the  translation  of  a  voluminous 
German  work,  and  applied  myself  till  late  in  the 
night  with  such  ardor,  that  all  suddenly  I  was  seized 
with  a  fierce  fever,  became  delirious,  and  for  weeks 
together  lost  all  consciousness  of  the  outer  world. 

During  this  illness  I  was  abandoned  to  the  care  of 
a  young  doctor,  who  followed  the  old  fashioned  sys- 
tem of  reduction  to  an  extent  I  barely  sm*vived,  and* 
to  the  attentions  of  tiie  people  in  whose  house  I  had 
lodgings. 

When  1  recovered  I  njet  with  neither  kindness  nor 
sympathy.  My  step-mother  was  my  secret,  inter- 
ested, and  determined  enemy.    My  father's  afiections 


318  THE  SL^ivr:  of  the  laivep. 

were  utterly  alienated.  I  was  doubly  alone.  My 
books  were  my  only  friends.  Therefore  I  addressed  to 
them  a  poem,  perhaps  the  first  tolerable  attempt  of  the 
kind  I  had  ever  made,  except  translations,  for  which 
my  delicate  perception  of  idioms  and  their  equiva- 
lents, gave  me  a  peculiar  facility. 

I  was  not  yet  truly  a  slave  of  the  lamp.  But  the 
hour  was  at  hand.  I  was  but  nineteen  years  of  age. 
It  struck ;  and  my  doom  was  sealed. 

Like  the  tiger  that  has  tasted  blood,  I  tasted  the 
sweet  poison  of  popular  fame,  and  from  that  moment 
the  thirst  was  insatiable  ! 

Since  that  date  precisely  ten  years  have  elapsed ; 
ten  years,  during  which  time  the  demon  of  unrest 
has  been  my  familiar  sjDirit.  The  genius  of  despera- 
tion my  almost  constant  tempter ;  my  faith  in  the 
Beautiful  my  only  source  of  consolation. 

A  book  appeared,  the  manifesto  of  a  man  who 
aimed  at  leading  a  j)arty. 

It  was  a  brilliant  book,  and  the  parliamentary  posi- 
tion of  its  author  gave  it  great  importance.  The 
■papers  were  full  of  it. 

The  retrograde  progressionists  advanced  (like  crabs 
backwards)  in  power.  Nevertheless,  the  book  was  a 
humbug,  the  "  principles"  it  advocated  fallacious,  the 
ideas  plagiarisms,  its  sentiment  artifice,  and  its  efi'ect 
clap-trap. 


MEMOIRS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         319 

It  was  full  of  plausible  nonsense,  and  sublime  bom- 
bast. There  was  not  a  particle  of  bonesty,  truth,  or 
real  greatness  of  soul  in  the  book  or  in  its  author — an 
ambitious  and  intriguing  adventurer,  who,  by  dint  of 
a  rich  marriage  and  exquisite  policy,  eventually 
became  the  leader  of  the  ultra-stupid,  that  is,  aristo- 
cratic party,  in  England,  and,  for  a  brief  space,  a 
cabinet  minister. 

I  resolved  to  answer  the  book,  and  hold  it  up  to 
the  ridicule  and  contempt  it  deserved. 

I  wrote  a  novel ;  a  bold,  dashing,  satirical  extrava- 
ganza. It  succeeded,  sold  largely,  was  reviewed  in 
all  the  papers,  and  was  even  the  subject  of  lengthy 
articles  in  the  magazines.  Its  authorship  was  a 
mystery ;  it  was  attributed  to  authors  of  established 
fame  and.  talent. 

It  produced  me,  however,  little,  save  fame  and  an 
offer  from  the  publisher — one  of  the  grandees  of  his 
class — to  follow  up  my  success,  by  a  second  attempt. 
The  publisher  even  advanced  me  money  on  the 
strength  of  the  fature. 

Ah-eady  I  was  beginning  to  feel  embarrassed,  as, 
since  ray  return  from  abroad,  I  was  barely  supplied 
with  the  funds  necessary  to  sustain  my  position,  and 
supply  my  necessities.  My  income  was  doled  out 
to  me  by  degi-ees.  I  was  questioned,  doubted,  lee- 
tm*ed  by  my  father,  and  contradicted  and  insulted 


320  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE  LAMP. 

by  iny  step-mother,  whose  defective  education,  added 
to  natural  weakness  of  mind,  made  her  an  implaca- 
ble torment. 

The  Slavery  of  the  Lamp  had  begun. 

A  violent  quarrel  with  my  father,  the  result  of  a 
long  train  of  petty  annoyances  on  the  part  of  himself 
and  my  step-mother,  drove  me  to  an  abrupt  decision. 

I  quitted  the  chambers,  or  rather  garrets,  which 
my  father  had  allotted  to  me,  in  one  of  his  houses, 
and  sought  the  hospitality  of  my  maternal  uncle. 

I  had  not  seen  him  since  I  was  a  child ;  he  was  the 
younger  of  my  mother's  two  brothers.  He  resided 
in  London.  This  brother  was  domiciled  at  'New 
Orleans.  My  grandmother  was  an  Englishwoman, 
and  after  my  grandfather's  death,  resided  partly  on 
her  own  estate  of  Lakeland,  partly  in  London,  at  her 
house  in  P Square. 

My  father's  separation  from  my  mother,  had  natu- 
rally separated  him  from  her  family. 

I  wrote  to  my  uncle,  who  was  a  distinguished  man 
of  science,  an  author,  and  a  travelled  connoisseur  in 
in  art — himself  an  admirable  amateur  artist. 

He  replied  gracefully  to  my  letter,  accompanied 
by  a  copy  of  my  new  work,  inviting  me  to  dine  with 
him  at  his  club.  In  England,  dinner  and  friendship 
are  inseparable  ideas. 

At  six  o'clock  precisely,  I  entered  the  splendid 


MEMOmS   OF  DUDLEY   MONDEL.  321 

club-house  in  St.  James's  Square,  and  was  conducted 
by  a  powdered  footman  into  the  presence  of  Mr. 
Harlej.  A  tall,  spare,  but  powerful  man,  of  some 
tln-ee  and  thirty  years,  with  a  pale  face,  and  deeply 
sunken,  intense  eyes,  rose  to  welcome  me,  with 
languid  cordiality,  but  with  perfectly  easy  and 
natural  manner  of  one  accustomed  to  the  refine- 
ment of  the  very  highest  society. 

He  appeared  pleased  with  my  appearance.  We 
conversed  freely,  on  general  and  family  matters. 
For  the  first  time  since  I  had  returned  from  Germany, 
I  felt  as  if  I  had  a  family,  a  name,  and  a  friend. 
Hitherto  so  ghastly  was  the  change  from  my  brilliant 
continental  life,  with  its  gay  companionship,  its  lively 
balls,  its  constant  excitement,  and  my  position  as  a 
young  "  milord,"  to  the  solitude  and  comparative 
penury  of  my  London  life,  that  I  seemed  to  myself 
an  abstraction,  a  nightmare-ridden  hero  of  Hofiman, 
rather  than  an  only  son  and  heir,  in  two  English 
families  of  undoubted  position.  In  England,  without 
family,  a  man  is  nothing.  He  has  no  introduction  to 
society,  he  knows  nobody,  he  is  not  recognized,  he 
does  not  exist.  People  always  ask  who  is  a  young 
man's  father,  who  his  grandfather  ?  Not  even  at  the 
actual  shopkeeper  docs  the  aristocratic  prejudice 
stop.  I  never  knew  a  man  in  England,  who  was 
not,  somehow  or  other,  of  noble  family,  except  a 

14* 


822  THE  SLAVE  OF  TKE  LAMP. 

downright  honest  mechanic.  In  this  respect  English- 
men are  as  bad  as  Irishmen,  only  their  pride  causes 
them  to  keep  quiet,  and  not  absolutely  ram  their 
ramified  pedigrees  down  the  throats  of  their  acquaint- 
ance ! 

What  a  droll  vanity !  Are  we  not  all  cousins  of 
the  order  mammal,  genus  bimana,  species  man  ? 

After  dining  with  my  uncle,  he  took  me  to  a  soiree 
in  Belgrave  Square,  having  previously  arranged  my 
introduction.  After  nearly  two  years  in  London, 
it  was  the  first  party  at  which,  except  at  my  father's 
house,  I  had  been  present !  My  father  had  always 
refused  all  invitations  for  me,  from  his  own  newly- 
formed  circle,  such  as  it  was — with  few  exceptions 
a  miscellaneous  horde  of  parvenus  and  parasites. 

But  the  study  of  my  uncle  himself  interested  me 
more  than  all  the  titled  and  untitled  celebrities  I 
encountered  in  the  society  to  which  he  introduced 
me ;  and  in  which  I  was,  thanks  to  my  book  and 
natural  vivacity,  treated,  as  the  French  say,  with 
distinguished  consideration. 

Indeed  nothing  astonished  or  impressed  me  much 
in  this  new  sphere.  Had  I  not,  in  Germany,  conversed 
with  the  great  Schlegel,  the  friend  of  Madame  de 
Stael,  and  the  translator  of  Shakspere  ?  Had  I  not 
danced  with  countesses  and  associated  with  princes  ? 
The  "  great  world"  was  the  only  world  of  which  I 


MEMOIES  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         323 

knew  anything,  and  of  that  I  knew  little,  it  is  true ; 
but  then  I  had  read  all  the  novels  of  the  age,  and 
novels  are — or  ought  to  be — the  mirrors  of  society. 

But  George  Harley  puzzled  me.  He  was  not  as 
other  men.  Tlie  objects  of  his  life  appeared  to  be 
purely  intellectual.  He  was  a  magnetizer,  a  phre- 
nologist, a  materialist  philosopher.  He  was  constantly 
on  the  look-out  for  new  ideas  and  strano-e  books. 
He  knew  strange  men,  famous  for  strange  speciali- 
ties.    One  day  he  introduced  me  to  an  astrologer, 

the   next  to  M F ,  afterward   Countess  of 

O i,  a  strong-minded  American  lady.     He  had  a 

cui-ious  sympathy  with  trees  and  landscape  effects, 
and  would  walk  with  me  for  hours,  discussing  phi- 
losophy till  long  after  midnight,  through  the  deserted 
streets  or  round  the  silent  Eegent's  Park,  near  which 
his  house  was  situate. 

But  there  was  a  mysterious  indifference,  a  cold 
pride  (not  hauteur — he  was  quiet,  gentle  and  affable 
in  manner),  about  him.  The  upper  part  of  his  face 
was  superb,  his  lips  thin,  compressed,  stern,  and  full 
of  sadness.  He  seemed  to  have  no  strong  passions 
but  auger,  wliich  he  suppressed,  and  scorn  which 
he  gave  vent  to  in  cynical  analyses  of  men  and 
their  motives.  He  interested,  yet  oppressed  me. 
I  loved  liim  with  a  vague  misgiving.  I  doubted 
whether  he  was  capable  of  affection.     Yet  he  treated 


324:  THE   SLATE   OE  THE  LAMP. 

me  at  that  time  with  kindness,  and  gave  me  his 
conjfidence  so  far  as,  perhaps,  he  was  capable  of 
confiding.  He  seemed  to  be  occupied  solely  with 
the  study  of  man  and  his  organization.  He  abso- 
lutely hated  the  idea  of  a  future  state,  repudiated  all 
spiritual  theories  and  trancendental  metaphysics, 
and  though  handsome,  and  possessing  worldly  advan- 
tages, the  thought  of  marriage  never  seemed  to  enter 
his  mind. 

Had  he  been  disappointed  in  love  ?  I  often  asked 
myself.  Yet  all  the  women  I  saw  appeared  to 
admire,  many  to  idolize,  this  cold,  strange,  unim- 
pressible  man.  He  treated  them  like  children,  and 
they  looked  up  to  him  as  a  wonder  and  a  mys- 
tery. 

Suddenly  the  mania  for  railway  speculation  broke 
out.  All  classes  were  infected,  and  lo !  my  grave 
uncle,  who  seemed  to  live  but  in  science  and  dreams 
became,  presto,  a  speculator.  He  enabled  me  also  to 
speculate  on  a  miniature  scale.  I  gained,  as  if  by 
magic,  considerable  sums  of  money.  Ere  long  came 
the  crash,  Harley,  who  at  one  time  had  been  almost 
a  millionaire,  was,  after  all,  a  loser  of  thousands  of 
pounds.  He  became  gloomy  and  anxious,  and 
relapsed  into  his  old  habits,  but  as  it  seemed  to 
me  without  zest  or  interest.  The  even  tenor  of  his 
life  was  broken.    We  became  estranged  by  degi'ees, 


MEMOrRS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         325 

and  when  my  hour  of  real  imperative  trouble  arrived, 
he  too,  deserted  me. 

It  soon  came.  At  twenty  I  had  published  my 
second  novel.  It  was  well  received,  but  the  times 
were  bad,  the  terrible  railway  crash  absorbed  the 
universal  attention.  Nevertheless,  the  produce  of  my 
fortunate  speculations,  with  the  profits  of  my  book, 
were  enough  to  sustain  me  in  a  life  of  luxury  and 
ease. 

I  shall  never  cease  to  remember  with  pleasure  a 
delightful  trip  to  Paris,  made  with  my  friend  Temple- 
ton  Bivar,  a  relative  of  Lord  Bivar's,  but  himself  the 
son  of  a  half-pay  Major  in  the  army,  and  of  the 
slenderest  pecuniary  resources.  He  was  two  years 
younger  than  myself,  a  noble,  talented,  enthusiastic 
young  fellow ;  tall,  blue-eyed,  with  black  hair,  a  fresh 
color,  and  the  features  of  an  Apollo.  His  sisters 
were  surpassingly  beautiful ;  their  presentation  at 
court  produced  quite  a  sensation.  Bivar  was  full  of 
humor,  and  his  judgment  was  pure  and  true  as  his 
heart  was  generous  and  faithful.  He  has  always 
been,  he  still  is,  my  friend  and  brother  in  soul.  We 
have  rendered  each  other  a  thousand  services, 
seconded  each  other  in  affairs  of  honor,  aided  one 
another  in  affaii-s  of  love.  We  have  shared  prospe- 
rity and  advei*sity,  we  have  never  had  two  purses. 
Together  we  have  battled  with  the  world,  and  toge- 


326  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

ther  we  liave,  at  least,  triumplied  over  obscurity, 
and  taught  men  to  recognize  our  existence  in  the 
world  of  art  and  literature.  Whenever  we  have  been 
separated,  our  worst  misfortunes  have  happened. 
Kominshi  is  the  only  friend  I  ever  had,  who 
approached  Bivar  in  chivalric  grandeur  of  sentiment 
and  action.     Bivar  was  emphatically  a  gentleman. 

And  here  let  me  abandon  for  a  brief  space  the 
external  progress,  to  record  the  spiritual  movements 
of  my  life. 

I  was  now  a  man,  I  corresponded  with  a  celebrated 
authoress  and  a  famous  poet,  I  lived  in  and  of  the 
world,  I  had  some  reputation  as  an  anonymous 
author.  I  had  tasted  to  a  certain  extent  the  feehng 
of  independence.  I  began  to  feel  my  intellectual 
power,  and  to  meditate  earnestly  on  man  and  his  des- 
tinies. My  convei-sations  with  Harley,  and  my  argu- 
ments against  his  material  theories  had  strengthened 
my  own  convictions.  I  felt  the  necessity  of  systema- 
tizing my  speculations. 

I  found  myself  mentally  at  war  with  all  received 
ideas.  In  politics  I  was  virtually  an  anarchist,  in 
religion  an  atheist.     In  morals  I  was  a  skeptic. 

I  had  to  reconstruct  the  universe  from  its  elements, 
and  to  account  for  its  apparent  inconsistencies. 

Familiar  with  the  theories  of  the  ancient  Hindoo 
philosophers,  the  Greek,  the  English,  the  French,  the 


MEMOIRS  OF  DIDLET   MONDEL.  327 

German  scliools  of  all  shades,  alike  versed  in  material 
facts  and  fancies,  as  in  transcendental  formulas,  with- 
out prejudice  or  bias,  seeking  only  knowledge,  I  was 
as  ready  to  follow  August  Compte  or  the  Baron  von 
Eeichenbach  ;  as  Berkeley  the  bishop,  or  Spinoza  the 
Hebrew;  as  ready  to  listen  to  the  inductions  from 
Harley's  experiments,  as  to  the  sublime  doctrines  of 
Fichte  and  the  audacious  logic  of  Hegel. 

I  was  an  impartial  investigator,  not  however,  an 
eclectic.  To  me  Victor  Cousin  was — an  academi- 
cian. 

I  desired  a  new  form  for  the  one  great  truth. 

The  result  was  my  system  oi  Atomic  Individualism, 
with  which  the  philosophic  world  is  acquainted. 

What  will,  perhaps,  surprise  any  students  of 
ontology  who  may  read  this  work,  is  the  unprece- 
dented fact  that  my  system  was,  and  is  (for  I  still 
liold  the  same  opinions),  neither  spiritual  nor  material, 
according  to  the  ordinary  acceptation  of  the  terms, 
but  rather  a  reconciliation  of  the  two  hostile,  or 
supposed  hostile,  theories,  which  may  be  most  cor- 
rectly defined  as  mathematical. 

I  could  not,  with  the  idealists,  admit  that  ideas 
were  the  fundamental  realities  of  existence,  because 
ideas  were  ever  changing.  Nor  could  I  allow,  witli  tho 
materiahsts,  that  matter  was  the  essence  of  all  things, 
because,  matter  being  infinitclyMivisiblc,  had  evi- 


328  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

dently  no  ultimate  particles,  and  therefore  resolved 
itself  into  notliing  but  forms  and  phenomena. 

To  exist  absolutely,  a  thing  must  exist  immutably 
and  independently,  because  it  is — and  for  no  other 
reason.  ITow,  ideas  only  exist  because  we  conceive 
them,  and  matter  only  exists — if  it  be  supposed  to 
exist  apart  from  ideas  at  all — in  relation  to  other 
matter.  In  a  word,  both  ideas  and  matter  have 
merely  a  comparative  and  proportionate,  not  a  real 
and  absolute  existence. 

Both  depend  upon  the  sentient  beings'  power  of 
perceiving  their  existence.  Hence,  I  was  driven  to 
conclude  that  the  ultimate  atoms  of  the  universe 
were  sentient  points,  having  neither  length,  breadth, 
nor  qualities,  and  that  all  existences,  apparent  or  real, 
were  simply  the  relations,  I  may  say,  for  want  of  a 
better  phrase,  the  mathematical  relations,  of  these 
points  to  one  another  (perhaps  intertortuosity  of  infi- 
nitely extensible  atoms).  That  power  or  force  existed, 
moreover,  was  undeniable,  else  constant  change 
and  movement  would  be  impossible.  And  as  all 
force  exerted  must  proceed  ultimately  from  some 
determinate  point,  I  concluded  that  each  of  these 
vital  atoms  was  the  centre  from  which  it  necessarily 
emanated,  and  that  volition  was  the  pure  and  radical 
nature  of  this  primitive  force.  In  fact,  that  the 
idea  of  universal  forces   governing   the  world,  was 


MEMOIRS  OF  DinDLET  MONDEL.  329 

at  bottom  nothing  but  an  imperfect  glimmering  of 
the  notion  of  the  united  action  of  tlie  will  or  force 
resident  in  every  individual  atom  or  spirit. 

Tliis  will  or  force  amounted  then,  in  mathematical 
parlance,  to  a  power  of  changing  its  position  with 
reference  to  other  spiritual  atoms,  or  vital  centres, 
possessed  by  each  individual  atom.  On  these 
relations  depended  the  sentient  condition  of  the 
atom.  Hence,  as  I  assumed  the  necessary  existence 
of  free-will,  or  independent  self-originating  motion 
in  each  point  of  intelligence  or  ultimate  atom  of 
the  infinite,  I  also  assumed,  as  the  inevitable  princi- 
ple of  every  such  atom's  motions,  the  desire  to  place 
itself  in  a  condition  most  productive  of  the  sense 
of  enjoyment ;  to  seek  which,  and  avoid  its  opposite, 
pain  (or  as  Locke  calls  it,  uneasiness),  must  be  the 
fimdamental  craving  of  every  sentient  being,  or 
spirit. 

This  relation  of  one  atom  to  the  rest,  is  what  in 
mundane  parlance  is  called  circumstance,  a  phrase 
which  betrays  an  unconscious  presentment  of  my 
philosophy,  as  implying  a  sentient  centre,  surrounded 
by  external  entities.  I  also  saw  that  as  all  motion 
must  logically  spring  from  central  points,  so  all 
will  must  be  governed  by  primitive  motive  or 
impulse.  Hence,  that  the  desire  of  selfish  enjoyment 
must  be  the   fountain    of   all   actions    whatsoever. 


330  THE   SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

Hence  that,  Immanly  speakjng,  tlie  great  object  of 
this  life,  as  of  all  other  modes  of  existence,  must  be 
to  place  oneself  in  the  most  favorable  circumstances 
for  enjoying  the  highest  degree  of  sensual  and  intel- 
lectual pleasure,  which  are,  at  bottom,  mere  varieties 
of  the  same  action. 

Such  was  the  substance  of  the  profound  system 
I  had  excogitated  before  reaching  my  one-and- 
twentieth  year. 

As  to  religion,  I  had  none,  in  the  vulgar  sense  of 
the  word,  I  repudiated  the  idea  of  a  personal  deity, 
as  contrary  to  the  nature  of  an  iniinite  and '  eternal 
Existence.  As  to  the  destinies  of  the  soul  or  primi- 
tive atom,  I  saw  nothing  but  an  everlasting  vista  of 
progress,  and  increase  of  enjoyment.  I  had  ascended 
from  the  abyss,  I  was  soaring  into  the  empyrean.  I 
had  been  perchance  a  stone,  a  plant,  a  fish,  an  insect, 
a  bird,  and  a  mammal.  I  was  now  a  man,  I  might 
be  an  angel,  a  god,  a  Kosmos ;  there  was  no  bound  to 
imagination,  nor  limit  to  reality.  In  the  Eternal 
Infinite  there  was  space  for  all  things.  The  stars 
might  perish  in  old  age,  the  whole  present  occupants 
of  the  stage  of  being  vanish  in  the  storms  of  change, 
but  I  and  all  the  other  indestructible,  indivisible 
atoms  of  the  measureless  whole,  could  never  escape 
from  Existence.  Eternal  space  was  our  abode,  and 
there  was  no  escape  from  the  eternal. 


MEMOIRS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         331 

Thus  I  Tiave  given  you  a  vague  glimpse  of  the 
deepest  depths  of  my  unfathomable  thoughts.  Let 
us  now  return  from  the  subtle  abstractions  of  philo- 
sophy, to  the  embodied  forms  and  images  of  human 
life.  Henceforward  I  shall  speak  of  things  as  they 
appear,  and  leave  the  more  difficult  science  of  essen- 
tial analysis  to  those  of  my  readers  who  care  to 
investigate  such  mysteries. 

I  will  merely  add,  that  in  love  I  recognized  the 
highest  spiritual  potence,  and  in  the  mystery  of  sex, 
the  grand  motive  power  of  Nature's  atomic  citi- 
zens. 

Up  to  this  time,  I  had  still  vaguely  dreamed  of 
Kosalie,  although  I  narrowly  escaped  a  second  serious 
passion  (from  which,  however,  I  recovered  after  a 
precipitate  declaration  and  very  natural  rejection). 
But  it  was  only  a  dreamy  a  hope.  The  Destinies  were 
eager  to  overthrow  the  edifice  of  pride,  which  the 
last  two  years  had  built  up. 

The  day  of  my  majority  arrived.  I  had  creditors 
like  any  other  young  man  of  pleasure.  But  what 
matter  ?  I  had  reversionary  property  to  the  value 
of  thousands  of  pounds.  I  could  discount  the 
future,  sacrifice  large  prospects  for  immediate  inde- 
pendence I 

Delicious  illusion  !  On  examination  of  the  will  of 
my  grandfather,  a  fiaw  in  my  title  was  discovered. 


332  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

My  reversionary  possessions  were,  perhaps,  unsale- 
able, without  ony  father's  consent  ! 

I  trembled  at  my  danger.     A  horrible  presentiment 
of  my   crushed   and   blighted  future,   darkened  my 
soul  like  a  thunder  cloud.     Already  I  knew  that  to 
live  by  literature  alone  in  London,  was  for  a  young 
aspirant,  like  myself,  a  hideous  experiment,  a  chance 
game,   against  the  most  hazardous   odds.     Authors 
swarmed;   the    magazines  were  overwhelmed  with 
contributors,  competing  for  their  miserable  honoraria. 
I   had,  it    is    true,   written    books,    conquered    the 
attention    of   readers,    and  sowed  the    seeds    of    a 
reputation.     But  the  railway  panic  deadened  the  sale 
of  my  last  book,  as  of  every  other  published  at  the 
time.     Money  was  scarce.     The  publisher,  growing 
timid,  demanded  to  see  the  whole  MS.  of  my  next 
work,  before  making  any  advances.      Alas !  I  had 
written  no  work,  but  my  grand  system  of  "  Atomic 
Individualism"  in  the  shape  of  a  long  blank  verse 
poem,  and  when  I  showed  it  to  the  philosophic  pub- 
lisher  by  speciality,  he  glanced  at  one  of  its  pages, 
and  within  the    space    of   two    minutes    and  three 
quarters,  delivered  himself  of  the  following  opinion : 
"This  is  a  string  of  mere  assumptions,  sir." 
I  have  heard    some    fine    criticism    in   my  time. 
Eight    years    later — only   the   other   day — I  met   a 
young  gentleman  in  Wall  street,  who  did  me  the 


MEMOERS   OF   DUDLEY   MONDEL.  333 

honor  to  tell  me  that  one  of  my  most  artistical 
compositions  was  "  fair,  very  fair,"  in  his,  young 
Wall  Street's,  opinion.  I  thanked  him  humbly  for  his 
patronage  of  my  modest  muse,  though  I  confess  I 
shivered  a  little  at  his  further  proposition,  that  we 
should  sj)end  an  evening  in  the  mutual  enjoyment  of 
one  another's  society. 

Authors  have  to  practise  patience,  more  than  even 
money-lenders.  The  currency  of  ideas  is  even  less 
understood  than  the  currency  of  barter. 

My  father  was  abroad.  I  sacrificed  a  smaller 
reversion,  by  way  of  a  stop-gap,  and  started  a 
magazine,  besides  printing  at  my  own  expense,  a 
most  abominably  bad  poem,  entitled, 

"bokianna," 

A  Tale  of  Ancient  Nineveh, 

or  something  of  the  kind. 

My  invisible  friend,  the  famous  poet,  wrote  me  his 
candid  opinion,  and  that  candid  operation,  I  blush 
to  say,  terminated  our  correspondence  for  several 
years.  Not  that  I  was  vain  enough  to  feel  offended 
at  his  utter  condemnation  of  my  poem,  but  that  I 
thought  he  need  not  have  damned  it  so  utterly^  since 
the  verses  were  at  least  correct  and  melodious.  But 
the  poet  was  a  Scotchman,  and  did  his  duty  as  a 
friend,  like  a    Brutus.     My   after   difficulties    wore 


334  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

the  real  cause  of  my  ceasing  to  'wi'ite,  either  to  tlio 
poet,  or  to  any  one  el§e  with  whom  I  was  in  corres- 
pondence.    Even  Lady • was  neglected,  till 

her  patience  gave  way,  and  she  wrote  through  a 
friend,  for  the  return  of  a  tale,  forwarded  for  my 
magazine.  I  had  not  used  the  tale,  from  a  scruple 
of  delicacy,  foreseeing  the  probable  catastrophe  of 
that  periodical  and  its  editor. 

My  father  returned.  I  told  him  the  difficulty — he 
was  marble.  I  entreated  his  signature — he  was 
iron.  I  besought  his  pity  for  the  utter  ruin  of  all 
my  prospects,  the  destruction  of  my  whole  scheme 
of  ambition  and  hope  in  life — ^he  was  adamant. 

He  would  do  nothing — nothing — absolutely  no- 
thing. Yes,  he  would  give  me  a  small  stipend — 
perhaps  even  a  hundred  pounds  a  year,  if  I  would 
return  to  the  profession  of  the  law,  and  (as  far  as 
possible),  abandon  literature. 

I  yielded  for  the  moment  to  necessity ;  but  as  my 
father  sternly  refused  to  pay  one  farthing  of  my 
debts,  it  was  too  late  for  economy.  One  morning 
before  I  rose,  the  servant  tapped  at  my  bed-room 
door. 

"  Sir,  Captain  Smith  is  waiting  to  see  you." 

"Who  is  Captain  Smith  I  wonder?"  thought  I, 
as  I  jumped  out  of  bed ;  "  ah !  Smith,  perhaps,  of  the 
H n  service.  Everybody  knows  a  Captain  Smith." 


MEMOIES  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         335 

Tlie  name  of  Smith  suggests  a  reminiscence. 
Walking  one  day  in  a  street  in  a  Western  city,  I 
saw  a  beautiful  girl  at  a  window.  Impelled  by 
curiosity,  and  hoping  to  get  an  excuse  to  see  her 
'  more  closely,  I  knocked  at  the-  door,  and  for  want  of 
sometliing  to  say  inquired  if  Miss  Smith  lived  there. 

"  Sir,"  said  a  middle-aged  lady  who  came  to  the 
door,  "  I  am  Miss  Smith." 

JSTow  had  she  not  been  Miss  Smith  I  was  fully 
prepared  with  apology,  inquiry  and  various  means 
of  prolonging  the  conversation.  As  it  was,  I  was 
for  the  moment  taken  aback.  It  was  only  by  a 
prodigious  eflbrt  that  I  invented  the  safety  valve. 

"  Miss  Kowena  Alexandrina  Smith  ?" 

"  IS.0^  sir,  Miss  Mary  Smith." 

And  so  our  interview  terminated  by  my  saying, 
"  All !  I  beg  your  pardon,  it  was  Miss  Alexandiina 
Rowena  Smith  I  wanted ;  pray  excuse  me." 

In  these  latter  days  I  might  have  suspected  a 
snare  in  the  early  visit  of  a  man  with  so  popular  a 
name.     But  at  one  and  twenty,  one  suspects  nothing. 

I  dressed,  entered  my  sitting-room,  and  found 
reading  the  paper  an  utter  stranger.  He  was  a  well- 
di'cssed  man  with  sandy  whiskers,  of  medium  height 
and  easy  manner. 

"  Captain  Smith  ?"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  yes  sir,"  said  the  stranger  courteously,  "  we 


336  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 

always  like  to  do  tliese  things  quietly — on  account  of 
the  servants.  The  fact  is,  I  have  come  to  arrest  you, 
to  take  your  body,  sir,  in  legal  phrase — at  the  suit  of 
Mr.  EoUer,  the  printer." 

"  Who  are  you  then  ?" 

"  Oh,  I,  sir  ?  I'm  a  sheriff's  officer ;  my  name  is 
Jacobs." 

"Yery  well,"  said  I,  "I  suppose  I  can  breakfast 
first." 

"  Certainly,  sir." 

'•'I  shall  be  able  to  pay  the  bill  in  the  course 
of  the  day,"  I  added,  with  an  off-hand  air,  and  still 
lingering  feeling  of  a  grand  seigneur  to  whom  such 
a  trifle  as  fifty  pounds  could  not  possibly  be  a  diffi- 
culty. 

"  1^0  doubt,  sir,"  said  Captain  Smith,  otherwise 
Jacobs,  with  apparent  conviction. 

"  Since  the  writ  was  served,  I  really  forgot  to 
attend  to  it,"  said  I,  "  but  it  is  a  mere  accident." 

"  Nothing  more,  of  course,"  said  Jacobs ;  "  a 
gentleman  like  yourself  would  of  course  never  leave 
a  bill  unpaid — except  by  accident.  And  now,  sir,  if 
you  please,  I'll  bring  up  my  man  Sloker  whose  time 
is  not  so  valuable  as  mine,  and  he  will  wait  tiU  you 
breakfast,  and  then  be  at  your  disposal." 

"Yery  well,  bring  up  Sloker,"  said  I,  feeling  a 
strange  novelty  in  my  position. 


MEMOIKS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         337 

Sloker  came  up.  He  was  a  short,  stout  man,  of 
immensely  broad  and  heavy  build,  ■with,  a  red-face, 
small  eyes,  pug-nose,  top  boots,  a  thick  stick,  in  short, 
the  bum-bailiff  of  tradition  in  high  perfection. 

Sloker  introduced,  Jacobs  vanished  with  a  bow. 

"  Sloker,"  said  I,  when  I  had  finished  my  break- 
fast, "  suppose  I  were  to  knock  you  down  with  the 
fire-poker  (and  an  English  poker  is  a  formidable 
weapon)  and  then  walk  off  and  become  invisible  ?" 

"  Captain  Frosterville  tried  that  'ere  game,"  said 
Sloker,  a  little  appalled  at  my  cool  proposition,  "  and 
vot  wus  the  consekuns  ?  -yy,  'e  wus  iransported  as  a 
fellun!" 

As  Sloker  thought  that  statement  of  fact  conclu- 
sive, I  said  no  more,  but  put  a  few  things  in  a  carpet 
bag,  and  sending  for  a  cab,  bid  the  man  carry  the 
bag  down-stairs,  and  preceded  him  in  the  descent. 

I  could  not  imagine  that  my  relatives  would  allow 
me  to  remain  an  hour  in  prison  for  debt.  Otherwise, 
I  might  have  saved  a  world  of  sufiering,  by  bribing 
Sloker  to  let  me  escape,  and  keeping  out  of  the  way 
till  my  creditors  were  pacified.  But  it  was  destined 
that  I  should  learn  at  one  blow,  what  vile  stuff  the 
world  is  made  of. 

I  was  taken  to  a  sponging-house,  thence  to  a  pri- 
son. I  found  myself  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  in 
the  society  of  a  miscellaneous  rabble,  ranging  from 

15 


338  THE   SLAVii   01?  THE   LAM^. 

the  "broken-down  swell,"  as  in  slang  phrase  the 
prisoners  called  any  luckless  member  of  the  "upj)er 
ten,"  who,  like  myseli,  found  his  w&;j  l>y  accident  to 
those  regions,  down  to  cab-drivers,  barbers,  and  petty 
traders  of  all  kinds. 

A  hideous  sense  of  degradation,  horror,  rage  and 
disgust  filled  my  whole  being,  when  I  found  myself 
utterly  abandoned  by  all  my  relatives,  friends  and 
acquaintances.  A  foreign  servant,  dependent  upon 
me,  was  my  only  visitor,  with  the  exception  of  those 
who  were  too  poor  to   aid  me.      The   old  exiled, 

.  impoverished  and  one-armed  Marquis  d'A ,  once 

commander  of  the  forces  in  C a  ;  Colonel  T , 

a  literary  as  well  as  military  veteran,  and  a  publisher 
who  had  in  his  possession  a  small  MS.  Satire  on  the 
Satirists  of  the  Day,  from  my  pen,  were  the  only 
friends  of  better  days  who  came  to  the  prison. 

Bivar  was  absent,  on  a  visit  to  Scotland. 

For  week  after  week  I  lingered  in  this  horrible  den 
of  misfortune,  with  difficulty  raising  the  means  of 
living,  by  allowing  my  man  to  sell  books,  pictures, 
and  other  valuables.  Even  that  resource  was 
stopped,  as  all  my  furniture,  &c.,  was  seized  by  the 
landlord,  vrhen  he  saw  that  I  was  in  difficulties.  At 
length,  I  wrote  to  my  sister,  who  was  manied  to  a 
rich  man,  and  had  herself  property  in  expectancy, 
iike  myself.     She  obtained  the  money  for  my  release, 


MEMOIRS   OF  DUDLEY   MOKDEL.  339 

and  extorted  a  promise  from  my  father  to  allow  me  a 
regular  income.     Once  more  I  was  at  liberty. 

Carpet  bag  in  hand — for  I  had  discharged  my  ser- 
vant, who  had  besides  robbed  me — I  quitted  the 
detested  precincts  of  tlic  city,  and  hastened  towards 
one  of  the  principal  thoroughfares.  I  felt  as  one  in 
a  dream ;  men,  horses,  omnibuses,  all  swam  before 
my  eyes ;  the  streets  looked  bright  and  gaudy  like 
the  scenery  of  a  pantomime,  after  the  gloom  of  the 
stone  yard  of  the  prison,  surrounded  by  high  build- 
ings, and  almost  impervious  to  the  sun. 

My  furniture  was  sold,  my  boolcs,  papers,  even  my 
clothes  were  detained,  under  pretext  of  a  balance  duo 
to  my  landlord.  I  was  utterly  destitute.  I  had  little 
more  than  a  change  of  linen,  and  my  income  was 
fixed  at  four  dollars  a  week  (fifteen  shillings  sterling), 
by  my  noble  father,  who,  without  spending  or  sacri- 
ficing a  cent,  could,  by  merely  signing  his  name,  put 
me  in  possession  of  a  fortune  which,  after  all,  was 
mine,  and  which  eventually  I  jyroved  to  be  mine  by 
the  best  of  all  possible  proofs,  viz.  by  selling  it. 

He  did  not  da/re  to  leave  me  to  starve,  though  his 
unnatural  hatred,  fostered  by  liis  wife  (of  whom  I 
had  incautiously  spokeu,  with  the  contempt  she 
merited)  would,  have  gladly  driven  me  to  suicide, 
and  thus  been  rid  of  my  mother's  representative  and 
possible  avenger. 


340  THE   SLAVE   OP  THE   LAM-P. 

Finding  myself  alone,  witliont  friends,  consolation, 
)r  resources,  my  spirit  broken  by  tlie  humiliations  of 
my  position,  my  heultli  injured  by  imprisonment  and 
want  of  air  and  exercise,  and  my  mind  weakened  by 
previous  over  exertion,  I  yielded  to  tlie  violence  of 
the  shock ;  and  when  a  letter  to  my  grandmother 
remained  unanswered,  and  the  landlady,  at  the  end 
of  two  weeks,  began  to  persecute  me  for  the  rent  of 
a  small  room  I  had  taken  ;  when,  moreover,  owing  to 
my  actual  inability  to  see  distress  without  relieving 
it,  and  a  poor  "  prison-acquaintance,"  yet  worse  off 
than  myself,  I  actually  learned  what  it  was  to  want 
food  at  times — I  fairly  gave  way  to  Destiny,  and 
deliberately  swallowed  a  large  dose  of  laudanum  in 
the  hope  of  escaping  all  farther  misery. 

By  a  sort  of  miracle,  the  poison  refused  to  destroy. 
I  woke  in  the  morning,  was  very  sick,  and  recovered. 
But  the  effect  remained,  not  of  the  laudanum,  but  of 
that  terrible  and  profound  sentiment  of  despair, 
which  must  animate  the  human  heart,  before  it  can 
attain  to  so  supreme  a  resolution  as  that  of  self- 
destruction. 

For  twelve  months  the  equilibrium  of  my  mind 
was  disturbed — ^my  usual  courage  was  weakened. 
I  roamed  dreamily  about,  avoiding  all  society.  I 
called  on  none  of  my  former  acquaintances.  I  disap- 
peared jitterly  from  the  eyes  of  my  acquaintance. 


SfEMOIES   or   DUDLEY   MO^TDEL.  341 

I  Ycgetated  miserably.  In  iny  deep  sadness,  I 
became  indifferent  to  food ;  a  little  bread,  butter  and 
fruit  sufficed  for  my  nutriment.  I  wrote  nothing.  I 
read  but  with  a  feeble,  dreamy  indifference.  My 
literary  ambition  seemed  dead,  my  self-confidence 
destroyed. 

But  I  was  young.  One  day  I  woke  up,  I  asked 
my  father  for  some  necessary  furniture,  of  which  his 
large  house  was  full  to  superfluity.  I, took  suitable 
apartments  in  a  suburb  of  London,  and  resolved 
to — turn  schoolmaster.  In  my  bitter  misanthropy,  I 
preferred  a  life  of  simple  obscurity,  to  the  trials  and 
ambitions  of  a  world  which  I  despised. 

I  issued  cards — well  I  recollect  with  what  difficulty 
I  spared  the  few  shillings  I  paid  for  printing  them — 
I  obtained  by  degrees  a  few  pupils,  who  at  "The 
Classical  and  Commercial  Academy  of  Mr.  D. 
Mondel,  member  of  the  Universities  of  &c.,  were 
instructed  in  Latin,  Greek,  Arithmetic,  &c.  IST.  B. 
Drawing,  French,  German,  Italian  and  Spanish, 
extra  .^" 

The  last  item  I  considered  rather  a  good  idea,  as  I 
was,  of  course,  my  own  drawing-master,  as  well  as 
professor  of  modern  languages. 

The  son  of  the  neighboring  milkman,  of  the 
barber,  of  the  confectioner,  the  washerwoman  aud 
the  green-grocer  were   amongst  my  pupils,  and  I 


342  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAIVIP. 

thus  was  chiefly  paid  iu  kind.  Unfortunately  the 
baker  had  no  son.  However,  I  lived^  and  with  a 
certain  savage  pride.  Sometimes  I  thought  of  John 
Milton,  and  Dionysius  Tyrannus.  I  ate  opium, 
inhaled  ether,  and  strolled  about  dreaming.  In  the 
eyes  of  the  vulgar  I  was  a  very  strange  personage, 
especially  since  one  day  I  picked  up  a  dying  beggar 
on  the  threshold  of  a  rich  nobleman's  villa,  and 
walked,  supporting  him  on  my  arm,  through  the 
main  street,  till  I  finally  gave  him  into  charge  of  the 
parish  authorities,  with  stern  injunctions  to  relieve 
his  necessities  forthwith. 

My  greatest  torture  in  these  years  of  horrible 
poverty,  for  my  rent  absorbed  nearly  all  my  little 
annuity,  was  the  ap|)eals  of  the  poor  whom  I  was 
unable  to  assist. 

Oh !  the  bitterness  and  the  wild  hopes  that 
animated  me  w^hen  I  beheld  the  sufferings  of  the 
poor  in  London  !  when  I  beheld  the  atrocious  mean- 
ness, the  base  ignoble  selfishness  of  the  rich  ! 

Sometimes  in  my  dreams  I  heard  the  measured 
tramp  of  thousands,  and  found  myself  riding  at  the 
head  of  a  mighty  army  into  the  great  city  of  cor- 
ruption— a  second  Cromwell  with  a  greater  purpose 
and  a  sterner  will.  Then  I  woke  in  a  cold  persj)ira- 
tion — the  poor,  half-starved  schoolmaster,  who  fancied 
that  he  had  once  seen  the  society  of  the  great  and 


MEMOIRS   OF   DUDLEY   MONDEL.  343 

the  beautiful  a  long,  long  time  ago — perhaps  in  a 
former  life  or  in  another  planet. 

Then  I  said  to  myself,  these  English  lords  and 
gentlemen,  and  merchants  and  scholars,  are  only  fit 
to  be  destroyed  utterly  for  their  cruel  murders  of 
the  working  maii — murder  by  inches,  murder  by 
starvation ! 

I  became  familiar  with  the  pawnbrokers,  to 
whom,  having  at  length  recovered  my  books  and 
papers,  I  carried  volume  after  volume,  from  my 
rapidly  diminishing  library.  At  length,  all  my  books 
were  gone,  but  the  presents  of  youth,  of  college 
friends,  keepsakes,  and  souvenirs.  Hunger  drove 
me  to  part  with  these  at  length,  and  poverty 
allowed  the  time  fixed  to  elapse,  so  that  they  all 
were  lost.  Of  all  my  books,  there  remained  only  a 
Latin  dictionary,  a  Greek  Lexicon,  Grammars  of  the 
two  dead  languages,  a  Lempriere's  Classical  Diction- 
ary, a  Bible  given  me  by  my  mother,  which  I  still 
preserve,  and  one  or  two  German  books,  of  no 
salable  value. 

It  was  the  workman  selling  his  tools,  but  keeping 
a  hammer  and  chisel,  a  saw  and  a  gimblet,  till  the 
last.  I*  now  became  a  political  agitator.  I  hoped 
for  a  revolution.  1  saw  so  much  injustice,  suffering, 
and  neglect  of  the  working  classes,  that  I  cared  not 
what  change  took  place.    It  could  but  benefit  the 


344  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

peojDle.  I  harangued  the  Chartists  at  some  of  their 
meetings,  but  my  soul  sank  within  me,  when  I  saw 
what  a  set  of  crushed  and  spirit-broken  men  I  pro- 
posed to  lead.  Oh !  had  I  then  had  money,  only  a 
single  thousand  pounds  (!)  how  much  I  could  have 
done  amongst  men  who  were  so  miserably  poor,  by 
even  the  smallest  signs  of  liberality — paying  the 
hire  of  a  hall,  for  example ;  but  I  had  nothing  but 
eloquence  and  reason,  and  they  were  not  reasonable. 
They  expected  the  impossible,  they  expected  victory 
without  fighting. 

Still,  with  a  small  sum  of  ready  money,  I  think 
that  on  the  outbreak  of  the  French  revolution  in 
1848,  I  could  have  upset  the  British  Government,  by 
a  rise  in  the  metropolis.  As  it  was,  there  was 
more  danger  of  such  an  event,  than  people  supposed. 
As  for  the  subsequent  meeting  of  the  Chartists,  on 
Kensington  Common,  it  was  a  mere  farce.  All  was 
prepared  for  resistance.  But  in  February,  1848,  the 
thing  might  have  been  done  by  bold  men,  by  a 
coup-de-7nain^  and  once  done,  with  a  strong  arm  at 
the  helm,  the  middle  classes  would  have  accejpted 
it.  But  my  utter  poverty  crippled  all  possibility  of 
action  ;  and  I  have  ever  been  too  proud  to  beg  sub- 
scriptions, even  for  the  cause  of  humanity,  or  to 
intrigue  to  ally  myself  with  richer  men,  for  the 
purpose  of  using  their  means. 


MEMOIKS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         345 

On  tlie  daj  that  the  news  arrived  of  Louis 
Philippe's  fall,  a  cab  stopped  at  my  door.  Unusual 
event !  the  scholars  were  amazed.  Out  jumped  a 
gentleman,  a  publisher.  He  wanted  me  to  translate 
an  important  work  from  the  French,  with  all  possi- 
ble speed.  It  was  a  book  of  two  hundred  small 
duodecimo  pages.  He  offered  me  five  pounds — 
twenty-five  dollars,  to  translate  it  in  a  fortnight.  I 
accepted.  I  translated  several  other  books  for  this 
man.  He  j)aid  me  as  well  as  he  could,  but  he  was 
poor  himself,  and  had  his  family  to  consider  before 
his  creditors.  He  is  like  nearly  every  publisher  I 
ever  dealt  with — still  in  mv  debt. 

Let  me  now  pass  rapidly  over  two  more  years  of 
perpetual  struggle,  poverty,  and  sufiering.  Bivar 
returned  and  engaged  a  room  in  the  same  house  with 
me.  I  dismissed  my  scholars,  and  relapsed  into  the 
professional  author.  ISTow,  indeed,  I  was  a  true  Slave 
of  the  Lamp.  Bivar  and  I  made  common  cause,  but 
with  all  our  efforts,  we  lived  irregularly,  fared  badly, 
and  were  often  almost  in  rags,  as  to  costume. 

I  should  be  sorry  to  write  down  all  the  bitter  feel- 
ings which  the  mere  mortification  of  not  being  able 
to  get  proper  clothes,  induces  in  the  mind  of  a  born 
gentleman  in  England.  How  often,  when  some  well- 
dressed  puppy  passed  me,  the  poor  threadbare  poet, 
with  a  side-glance  in  the  street,  have  I  muttered  dark 

15* 


846  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

and  awful  anthemas  on  tlie  brutal  selfisliness  of  my 
pitiful  relatives.  ITot  to  feel  vt^as  impossible,  because 
we  know  tlie  effect  of  appearances  on  the  mind,  but 
my  feelings  were  not  of  sbame,  but  of  wrath  and 
contempt  for  tbe  meanness  and  baseness  of  mankind. 

One  day,  a  dandy  on  horseback  nearly  rode  over 
me,  as  he  emerged  from  a  doorway.  Striking  his 
horse  on  the  forehead  with  my  clenched  hand,  I  com- 
manded him  to  draw  back  while  I  passed,  or  I 
would  speak  to  his  master  to  discharge  him.  This 
pretence  of  mistaking  him  for  a  groom,  displeased 
my  gentleman,  who  made  some  muttered  reply,  in 
which  I  caught  the  words  "whips  and  insolence." 
I  stopped  his  horse,  and  said  to  him  calmly,  but  with 
the  feelings  of  a  devil — "  Sir,  were  you  ever  torn 
from  your  horse,  rolled  in  the  mire,  trampled  and 
spit  upon? — ISTo!  then  utter  one  word,  look  at  me 
impertinently,  and  you  will  enjoy  that  novel  expe- 
rience." 

When  the  man  had  left  me,  which  he  did  in 
silence,  for  after  all,  he  was,  perhaps,  only  some  rich 
shopkeeper,  who  liked  horses,  and  in  England  all 
shopkeepers  are  cowards,  I  still  trembled  with  agita- 
tion. My  mind  was  diseased,  I  was  fierce  and 
dangerous  as  a  famished  wolf.  A  dun  forced  himself 
into  my  study,  and  said  he  would  stay  there  till  he 
was  paid.     I  threw  him  down-stairs,  after  warning 


MEMOmS   OF  DUDLEY   iTONDEL.  347 

him  gravely  of  my  intention.  Bivar  langlied  wlieu 
he  came  in,  and  heard  of  the  incident.  The  people 
in  the  house  thought  me  mad.  If  anything  is  calcu- 
lated to  drive  a  proud  and  honorable  man  mad,  it  is 
pecuniary  embarrassment  and  "petty  miseries. 

Bivar  and  I  now  had  made  the  acquaintance  of 
many  young  artists  and  authors,  mostly  as  poor 
as  ourselves.  TVe  wrote  and  drew  for  a  comic 
pajDer,  which  paid  well  enough,  but  which,  as  it 
had  to  support  half  the  rising  talent  in  London, 
could  not  give  a  very  large  slice  to  individuals. 
Bivar  and  I  were  also,- in  a  maimer,  intruders,  and 
had  not  been  originally  connected  with  the  affair. 
However,  the  devil-may-care  young  editors  gave  us 
what  space  they  could,  and  eventually,  I  attended 
the  funeral  of  the  paper,  as  editor,  and  mourner 
in-chief,  having  in  its  latter  days,  occasionally 
written  the  whole  paper,  and  drawn  the  caricatures 
into  the  bargain,  during  Bivar's  absence  in  the 
country. 

I  had  moved  into  the  heart  of  London,  and  now 
occupied  chambers,  as  they  are  called-in  an  Inn  of 
com-t.  These  chambers  are  like  offices,  quite  inde- 
pendent, and  taken  on  lease  like  separate  tenements. 
My  rooms  were  naturally  on  the  third  floor,  which 
happened  to  be  the  highest. 
There,  in  utter  solitude  and  desolation,  I  lived  and 


348  THE    SLAVE   O?   THE   LAMP. 

wrote,  and  studied,  boiling  my  own  potatoes,  and 
making  my  own  tea ;  meditating  grand  poems, 
pliilosopliical  treatises,  tales,  novels,  dramas,  and  all 
kinds  of  fantastic  creations,  whole  boxes  of  which, 
in  embryo,  are  probably  still  mouldering  in  the  cellar 
of  the  inn.  But  except  Bivar,  no  one  saw  in  me 
anything  but  a  man  who  had  seen  better  days,  and 
written  books ;  who  was  very  poor,  and  very  gloomy. 

"Ha,  ha,  Mondel,  you  are  one  of  the  great 
unappreciated!"  said  a. brilliant  young  writer  whose 
imitative  faculty  rendered  him  more  easily  successful 
as  a  journalist  and  magazinist. 

"What  had  this  boy  done  that  he  should  thus  speak 
to  me,  who,  at  the  age  of  four  and  twenty,  in 
one  way  or  other,  had  already  produced  more 
than  a  dozen  volumes?  I  reflected  impatiently. 
But  a  second  reflection  calmed  me.  He  was 
right.  I  was  unappreciated,  because  I  expected 
credit  for  the  inward  power,  not  for  the  external 
deed.  I  immediately  resolved  to  write  a  new  work, 
and  threw  my  whole  soul  into  its  composition.  I 
found  a  youi^  publisher,  who  was  not  afraid  of  new 
ideas,  and  in  fact,  was  glad  to  catch  an  author  of 
even  my  celebrity.  A  bargain  was  struck — I  was 
to  receive  a  per  centage  on  the  work,  and  a  small— 
a  mrij  small,  advance ;  for  the  publisher  was  poor 
and  himself  a  practical  printer. 


SrEMOIES    OF   DUDLEY   MONDEL.  349 

During  these  tliree  years  of  purgatory,  from  wliicli 
I  now  began  somewhat  to  emerge,  having  renewed 
my  wardrobe,  and  become  a  more  dextrous  finan- 
cier, I  had  of  course,  had  many  slight  flirtations  of 
a  more  or  less  fleeting  character,  but  love — divine 
love — had  been  as  it  were,  exorcised  by  the  angel 
of  sorrow.  My  mind  had  been  too  much  absorbed 
in  gloomy  meditation,  and  anxious  care,  to  dwell 
perseveringly  on  the  still  slumbering  Ideal.  Besides, 
I  lived  alone,  and  made  no  female  acquaintances 
of  a  suitable  kind. 

One  day,  I  had  just  written  the  last  sentence  of  ,, 
my  new  prose  version  of  the  '■^Atomic  Individual- 
ising^^ as  it  is  now  printed,  and  condemned  the 
long  poem  to  eternal  oblivion,  when  there  was  a 
tap  at  my  door,  "  some  one  gently  tapping — tap- 
ping at  my  chamber  door — merely  this,  and  nothing 
more." 

I  opened  the  door,  a  young  girl  of  sixteen  to  seven-  , 
teen    years,   beautiful  as   a  dream,   entered.       She 
brought    me    a   letter  of   no    importance,   but  she 
brought  me  herself,  a  matter  of  great  importance. 

Organization  is  the  handwriting  of  ISTature,  the 
emblem  of  the  soul.  "We  love  types.  Tlie  moment 
we  see  a  sufficiently  near  approximation  to  the  tjpe 
within  us,  we  love  it. 

I  loved  the  lair  stranger  at  the  first  glance.     For  a 


350  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

second  time,  but  with  far  greater  power,  I  felt  that 
thrill  which  love,  real  love  onlv  can  inspire.  At  four 
and  twenty  the  passions  have  a  far  grander  move- 
ment than  at  seventeen.  "We  are  not  less  intoxicated 
perhaps,  but  far  more  deeply  shaken. 

This  charming  visitor  appeared  to  me  like  a  dove 
bearing  the  olive  branch  of  Hope  to  my  tempest- 
tossed  ark,  after  a  deluge  of  sorrows. 

She  was  not  really  tall,  but  she  looked  so,  from  the 
fine  proportions  of  her  figure.  She  was  beautiful — 
would  you  know  liow  beautiful ;  imagine  a  somewhat 
less  dazzling  reflection  of  Columbia,  with  hazel  eyes 
instead  of  ethereal  blue,  and  a  mien  somewhat  less 
imj)erially  graceful,  standing  like  a  Greek  statue, 
self-posted,  calm,  unconscious  of  the  effect  she  was 
producing,  and  you  see  the  fair  stranger  before  you 
as  I  then  beheld  her. 

I  inquired  the  name  of  this  heavenly  messenger. 

"Blanche  D'Arcy." 

I  repeated  the  name  to  myself  with  delight.  In 
young  girls  and  poets  ISTature  still  speaks.  We 
looked  and  loved.  A  few  confused  words,  a  hasty 
kiss,  a  pressure  of  the  hand,  and  Blanche  glided 
away  like  a  shadow,  leaving  me  happy — yes  happy, 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life  ! 

So  happy  did  I  feel,  that  I  could  not  believe  my 
happiness.    I  had  been  hitherto,  even  in  my  more 


MEMOmS   OF   DUDLEY   MONDEL.  351 

prosperous  days  so  unutterably  miserable  from  tlie 
fierce  craving  for  affection  that  consumed  my  soul, 
amid  fictitious  mockeries  of  pleasure !  And  now 
was  it  possible  -tliat  in  one  bour  tbe  misery  of  a  life 
had  been  remedied  ?  I  hardly  dared  to  believe.  Yet 
to-morrow  came  and  I  with  it.  Blanche  came  again, 
and  from  day  to  day  our  love  grew,  and  our  happi- 
ness was  almost  without  spec. 

Blanche  was  the  daughter  of  a  dramatic  author 
and  poet,  who  had  neither  accomplished  anything  as 
a  writer,  nor  in  any  other  line,  and  who  had  allowed 
his  youngest  daughter  to  grow  up  wild  as  it  were, 
like  the  flowers  on  the  heath  or  in  the  forest.  But 
Blanche  was  a  genius  in  her  way,  and  I  have  never 
heard  anything  more  fascinating  than  her  stories  of 
her  childhood ;  passed  like  Annabel  Lee's,  "  in  a  city 
by  the  sea."  One  of  them  I  will  record  in  her  own 
words. 

"  You  must  know,  dearest,  that  at  one  time  I  was 
in  the  habit  of  giving  all  my  pocket-money  to  a  poor 
old  bcnirar  who  stood  on  the  Marine  Parade.  I  could 
not  resist  him,  he  was  so  old  and  looked  so  very  poor. 
Very  shortly  after,  papa  became  poor  himself,  that  is 
very  much  troubled,  so  that  we  had  scarcely  bread  to 
eat  at  homo  on  some  days.  But  wc  let  no  one  know 
how  poor  we  were.  Still,  I  outgrew  my  dresses,  and 
mamma  took  opium,  and  papa  had  no  money  to  buy 


362  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAIIP. 

me  new  ones,  so  that  I  no  longer  looked  like  a  yonng 
lady,  but  quite  like  a  poor  workman's  child.  One 
day  I  passed  the  beggar,  and  said,  '  How  sorry  I  am 
that  I  have  nothing  to  give  you !'  Then  the  beggar 
said,  '  Oh,  my  dear  young  lady,  vfhat  is  the  matter  ? 
you  do  not  look  so  well  dressed  as  you  did ;  has  any 
misfortune  happened  to  your  parents?'  'Yes,' said 
I,  '  papa's  eyes  are  grown  weak,  and  we  are  not  so 
rich  as  we  were,'  and  I  wished  to  go  away.  But 
the  beggar  held  my  arm,  and  said,  '  My  dear  child, 
I  am  not  so  poor  as  I  look.  Say  nothing,  you  were 
always  good  to  me,  and  I  wish  to  show  my  gratitude.' 
And  the  old  man  took  out  a  bright  j)iece  of  gold — a 
half-sovereign  I  think — and  tried  to  force  it  into  my 
hand!" 

"  And  what  did  you  do,  Blanche  ?"  said  I. 

"  Who,  I  ?"  resumed  Blanche,  I  cried  out,  "  What ! 
take  money  from  a  beggar !  Oh,  no,  my  dear  old 
friend,  never !  And  I  ran  away  as  fast  as  I  could. 
But  when  I  grew  older  I  often  thought  of  the  inci- 
dent, and  I  don't  know  why,  but  the  tears  always 
come  into  my  eyes  when  I  do." 

"  Blanche,"  said  I,  "  you  are  a  little  angol." 

And  so  things  went  on,  and  we  became  all  to  one 
another  that  man  can  be  to  woman  or  woman  to 
man.  Blanche  had  no  conventional  ideas,  whatever. 
She  was  absolutely  a  child  of  nature.    "We  were  to 


MEMOIRS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         353 

be  formally  married,  however,  on  a  day  agreed  upon 
between  us.  My  book  was  completely  printed  and 
published.  I  had  provided  Blanche  with  an  outfit 
and  a  wedding  dress.  All  was  arranged  ;  when,  by 
one  of  the  most  infernal  conspiracies  ever  formed, 
originating  in  the  jealousy  of  her  elder  sister,  and  a 
young  female  friend,  the  daughter  of  a  relative 
with  whom  Blanche  lived,  our  whole  scheme  of 
life  and  happiness  was  overthrown  as  by  an  earth- 
<]^uake. 

In  an  insane  fit  of  jealousy  I  had  an  interview 
with  Blanche,  who  had  been  goaded  into  an  equally 
insane  fit  of  pride.  "Without  any  explanation,  with 
out  alluding  to  details,  which  seemed  to  us  beneath 
our  dignity  to  discuss,  we  each  assumed  positions 
from  which  neither  would  descend.  I  insisted ; 
Blanche  defied ;  and  we  parted  the  very  day  before 
that  fixed  for  our  marriage,  the  victim.s  of  a  few 
ingenious  lies  and  of  our  own  unreasonable  pride. 

"  Have  the  extreme  kindness,  sir,"  said  Blanche, 
"  to  light  me  down  stairs." 

"  Pardon  me.  Madam,  I  forgot  that  the  gas  was  not 
lit,"  I  rej^lied,  as  with  studied  politeness,  I  escorted 
her  to  the  bottom  of  the  staircase. 

"  You  know  best,"  said  Bivar,  who  was  present 
at  the  interview,  but — ^lie  shook  his  head  sadly. 

ISTever,  indeed  had  Blanche  looked  more  lovely 


354:  THE   SLAVE   OF  TIIE   LAMP. 

than  on  that  fatal  occasion.     The  unfortunate  cause 
of  the  whole  catastrophe,  also  accompanied  Blanche. 

Thus  we  had  each  our  second,  or  as  the  French 
say  witness,  in  this  duel  of  almost  incredible  folly, 
and  it  is  w4th  a  shudder  that  I  recall,  how  when 
Blanche  requested  to  speak  with  me,  alone  in  the 
adjoining  room,  I  answered  coldly,  "all  we  have 
to  say,  can  be  as  well  said  here  !" 

The  presence  of  others  prevented  all  possibility  of 
a  true  explanation.  Altogether,  I  am  amazed  that 
such  a  scene  could  have  occurred,  and  been  regarded 
by  us,  as  final.  Yet,  so  it  was.  Blanche  indeed 
returned  to  unveil  the  conspiracy  of  our  enemies, 
but  it  was  too  late.  I  had  left  the  chambers  for 
ever,  and  given  no  clue  to  my  abode. 

It  happened  thus.  Spurning  from  me  the  more 
than  hinted  propositions  of  Blanche's  perfidious 
friend  (a  young  and  pretty  young  girl,  who  subse- 
quently married  an  actor,  and  died  of  consumption 
in  the  same  year),  I  immediately  left  the  hated 
scene  of  so  much  happiness,  now  lost  to  me  for 
ever,  and  resolved  to  sell  my  estate  in  reversion, 
at  all  hazards,  for  whatever  I  could  obtain,  were 
it  only  a  single  hundred  pounds,  with  which,  to 
give  a  last  grand  supper  to  my  literary  comrades, 
and  drug  my  last  goblet  with  prussic  acid,  by 
way  of  a  suitable  finale. 


aiEMOIES   OF   DUDLEY   IMONDEL.  855 

Bivar  and  I  took  roomy  lodgings  in  a  pleasant 
suburb,  where  we  were  attended  on  as  at  an  hotel. 
Bivar's  father  advanced  nie  some  money,  till  my 
negotiations  were  concluded,  and  Bivar  himself 
suddenly  determined  to  start  for  E'ew  York,  and 
seek  his  fortunes  in  America.  Thus,  I  was  left  to 
the  society  of  my  only  other  confidential  friend. 
Peregrine  Cope,  an  American  editor,  orator,  and 
man  of  letters,  then  in  London.  For  some  months,  he 
and  I  struggled  on  together,  both  terribly  embar- 
rassed in  our  circumstances,  when  I  effected  a 
sale  of  a  share  of  my  property,  at  a  sacrifice  of 
at  least  six-sevenths  of  its  real  value,  and  within 
forty-eight  hours.  Cope  and  I  were  in  the  capital  of 
the  then  Eepublic  of  France,  one  and  indivisible, 
declaring  that  after  all,  there  was  only  one  city  in 
the  world,  and  that  was  Paris. 

But  though  I  never  alluded  to  the  subject,  the 
pale  spectre  of  Blanche  D'Arcy,  haunted  me  like 
a  crime.  I  was  restless,  irritable,  morbid.  Cope 
could  scarcely  endure  my  caprices. 

Let  me  now  sum  up  briefly,  the  next  two  years 
of  my  life. 

Though  not  entirely  idle,  for  I  published  my  system 
of  philosophy,  and  wrote  many  articles  which  were 
well  paid  for,  and  highly  appreciated  by  first- 
class   periodicals,    I    devoted    myself,  mainly,   to   a 


356  THE   SLANTS   OF   THE   LAMP. 

restless  pursuit  of  excitement.  The  three  years  of 
poverty,  and  the  loss  of  my  beautiful  Blanche,  had 
left  me  in  a  state  of  misanthropy  and  despair.  I 
now  beheved  in,  hoped  in  nothing.  I  felt  like  a 
man  without  a  future.  I  associated  with  rich  yoUng 
men,  and  rivalled  them  in  their  extravagant  dissi- 
pations. My  reversionary  thousands,  dwindled  down 
into  hundreds  when  realized,  disappeared  one  after 
the  other,  with  an  alarming  rapidity.  Still,  I 
plunged  on,  I  was  like  a  man  falling  in  a  dream. 

One  morning,  I  awoke  in  a  handsome  villa,  which 
I  rented  with  a  fair  Eosamond,  whom  I  did  not 
love,  and  servants  to  provide  for,  and  with  empty 
purse.  To  hope  to  maintain  such  expenses  by 
writing  for  magazines  or  papers,  was  preposterous, 
and  I  had  just  failed  in  getting  a  purchaser  for 
my  last  remnant  of  reversion.  I  was  used  up 
mentally  and  pecuniarily,  I  had  no  inducement 
to  live ;  1  did  not  love  my  supposed  wife  in  the 
least.  It  had  been  a  union  of  caprice  and  reckless- 
ness, and  on  my  part,  at  least,  resulted  in  perfect 
indifference.  In  fact,  I  was  tired  of  the  whole  life. 
So,  unsatisfactory  as  it  was  to  die  in  the  j)rime  of 
manhood,  and  perhaps  on  the  verge  of  fame,  I 
very  quietly  made  up  my  mind  to  get  up,  dress, 
load  my  pistols,  and  blow  my  brains  out. 

"What  else  could  I  do  with  expenses,  say  at  least 


MEMOIRS  OF  DUDLEY  MOXDEL.         357 

some  four  or  five  hundred  pounds  a  year,  and  not  a 
penny  in  possession  or  prospect  ?  The  case  seemed 
to  me  clear,  and  my  resolution  was  taken.  As  for 
applying  again  to  my  rich  relatives,  it  did  not  even 
occur  to  me. 

A  miracle  a2;ain  saved  me.  The  servant  knocked 
at  the  door  and  handed  in  a  card,  saying  that  a  lady 
was  below,  and  wished  to  see  me. 

"A  lady!"  I  looked  at  the  card.     It  was  that  of    , 
my  sister,  whom  I  liad  not  seen  for  four  years  ! 

One  month  from  that  time  I  had  got  rid  of  my 
establishment,  was  separated  from  my  fair  but  un- 
congenial friend,  had  chambers  in  the  best  part  of 
London  newly  furnished,  and  a  hundred  pounds  at    , 
my  bankei-s  !     Thanks  to  my  noble  sister,  all  this  had 
been  accomplished.     Ilcr  love  inspired  me  with  new     ; 
energy,  my  capitalist  Jiad^  after  all,  advanced  me  the     \ 
funds  I  refjuired,  and  the  new  magazine  which  I  had     | 
started,  was  going  on  well.     I  might  yet  have  suc- 
ceeded in  retrieving  my  fortune  in  England. 

Nevertheless,  the  moment  I  was  not  actually 
employed,  the  old  gloom  and  disgust  of  life  returned. 
I  was  walking  past  Trafalgar  Square,  a  day  or  two 
after  my  instalment  in  my  new  abode,  when  a 
woman's  hand  was  laid  gently  on  my  arm.  I  turned 
impatiently,  and  saw  a  pale  lady  in  black,  instead  of 
the  person  I  anticipated. 


358  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 

"  Excuse  me,"  I  said,  "  I  really  do  not " 

"l!^ot  remember  me?"  said  a  voice  that  vibrated 
to  my  inmost  soul.     It  was  Blanche  D'Arcj. 

""Walk  with  me,"  said  Blanche,  with  dignity,  "I 
wish  to  speak  to  you.     I  am  no  longer  a  child." 

In  truth  she  was  now  a  beautiful  woman — 
though  looking  unutterably  sorrowful  and  care- 
worn. 

We  walked  together  towards  my  house.  She 
unravelled  the  whole  mystery  of  our  quarrel,  and 
explained  the  base  decej)tions  of  which  we  were  the 
victims.  ^ 

I  begged  Blanche  to  enter.  "We  sat  down,  at  a 
great  distance  from  one  another,,  on  either  side  of  the 
fireplace.     "We  were  grave  and  polite. 

"O  Blanche!"  I  exclaimed,  "if  you  had  but 
known  how  much  I  loved  you !" 

'■'-  Loved  f  said  Blanche. 

In  that  one  word  she  said  more  than  could  be 
expressed  in  hours.  The  next  moment  she  was  in 
my  arms. 

"Blanche,"  I  cried,  "let  us  be  married  at  once!" 

"  I  am  married,"  said  Blanche  sadly  ;  "  I  have  been 
married  nearly  two  years.  I  married  in  despair ;  I 
have  since  repented.  My  husband  and  I  are  separa- 
ted." 

"  For  what  cause  ?" 


MEMOmS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         359 

"  Because  I  found  that  I  could  not  endure  his 
society." 

"Is  he  old?" 

"Twenty  two." 

"Good  looking?" 

"  He  is  considered  to  be  so.  He  is  very  suc- 
cessful with  women." 

"  Does  he  love  you  ?" 

"  He  adores  me." 

"And  you?" 

"I  cannot  endure  him  near  me.     I  do  not  love 

him.     I 1  loathe  him  !     I  cannot  accoimt  for  it. 

So  it  is.     Dudley !  my  heart  has  been  true  to  you." 
-:<-  4t  *  -::-  * 

Consumption !  horrible  scourge  of  love  and  beauty 

and  hope  !  I  cannot,  dare  not,  trace  its  progress. 
^  -:t  %  f:  -X- 

Blanche  died  in  my  arms. 

I  buried  her  with  my  last  remaining  money. 

I  was  alone,  penniless,  lost ;  yet  I  had  not  yet  found 
the  happiness  I  sought — a  great,  an  equal  love.  Poor 
Blanche  was  but  a  child.  I  loved  her  and  nursed 
her — cherished  her.  She  looked  up  to  me  as  a 
woman,  though  she  had  braved  me  as  a  child.  But 
I  still  had  a  dream,  a  secret  image  of  a  goddess, 
whose  intelligence,  as  well  as  feeling,  should  harmo- 
nize with  my  own.     This  indefinite  longing  revived 


360  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

after  tlie  first  storm  of  grief  was  over.  Yet,  once 
more  I  owed  my  life  to  an  accident.  In  a  moment 
of  despair  at  my  loss,  I  was  about  to  form  a  desperate 
resolution,  when  a  letter  from  Bivar  was  given  me. 

A  trifle  now  decided  my  destiny ;  I  resolved  to 
rake  together  the  necessary  sum  and  start  for 
America  at  once.  All  social  and  conventional  consi- 
derations were  now  with  me  as  wind.  I  made  no 
attempt  to  realize  my  remaining  proj^erty.  I 
embarked  on  board  a  sailing  vessel,  as  a  second 
cabin  passenger,  with  ten  pounds  in  my  purse,  and 
as  outfit  just  what  was  absolutely  necessary.  A 
thirty  days'  voyage  landed  me  in  'New  York,  where 
Bivar  received  me  with  open  arms.  Of  the  rest  of 
my  doings,  I  need  not  speak.  I  have  travelled  and 
seen  tlie  new  land  of  my  adoption..  I  have  lived  by 
my  pen,  my  pencil,  and  my  invention,  as  becomes  a 
gentleman  and  a  poet.  Men  call  me  eccentric,  fools 
whisper  that  I  am  insane.  Let  my  worJc  speak  for 
me,  as  it  constantly  does  in  reviews,  magazines, 
papers,  from  Florida  to  the  British  Provinces,  and 
from  Kew  York  to  San  Francisco.  But  of  one  thing 
feel  certain,  the  hardships  which  I  have  endured  as 
a  Slave  of  the  Zaonp  in  this  land,  are  little  inferior 
to  my  worst  days  in  England.  It  is  true,  I  am  now 
too  old  and  too  sensible  to  go  without  a  dinner.  But 
short  of  that,  ISTew  York  is  as  hard  a  stepmother  for 


MEMOIRS  OF  DUDLEY  MONDEL.         361 

poets  as  London  or  Paris !  Some  day  I  will  hope  to 
fill  up  the  outline  so  lightly  traced  in  these  hasty 
pages. 

Such,  O,  peerless  Columbia  !  is  a  brief  and  imper- 
fect outline  of  my  life.  In  it  I  have  dwelt  little  on 
my  numerous  literary  labors;  also  omitted  many 
details  which  might  have  added  apparent  consistency 
to  the  narrative.  Such  as  it  is,  it  is  true.  You  now 
know  me  to  some  extent  as  I  am.  Whilst  others 
around  you  wear  the  mask  of  conventional  hypocrisy, 
I  stand  before  you  as  one  who  has  loved  and  suf- 
fered, who  still  loves  and  suffers,  a  victim  to  the  Fate 
which  has  implanted  in  his  soul  the  instinct  to  seek 
for  the  highest  beauty  and  noblest  happiness  upon 
earth. 

Farewell !  divinely  beautiful  and  dear,  too  dear, 
Columbia.  I  have  been  rejected,  perhaps  con- 
demned justly — yet  would  I  be  judged  as  I  am, 
not  as  I  seem,  and  by  the  law  of  reason  and  nature ; 
not  by  that  of  cant  and  preconceived  moraHty. 

Once  more  farewell — if  successful  in  my  enter- 
prise I  shall  return  ere  many  montlis  are  past 
Adored  Columbia,  farewell — farewell ! 

(Signed) 

MoNDEL. 

When  Columbia  had  finished  the  perusal  of  these 

16 


3t)2  TJIE    SLAVE    OF   THE   LAMP. 

strange  confessions,  slic  moditated  long  and  gravely 
over  their  contents. 

"  Strange  man  !  strange  man  !"  she  murmured  ; 
and  again,  and  again,  she  perused  certain  passages' 
in  the  memoir  of  this  second  Rousseau,  who,  from 
the  vulgar  point  of  view — a  spendthrift,  a  libertine, 
a  reckless  desperado,  was,  philoso'phically  regarded — 
a  strong  spirit  at  w^ar  with  prejudice  and  conven- 
tional slavery. 

It  might  be  that  his  excessive  pride  glossed  over 
his  vices  and  weaknesses  in  his  descriptions ;  and  it 
was  perfectly  plain  that  he  had  at  various  periods  led 
anything  but  a  respectable  and  saintly  existence.  It 
was  also  evident  that  he  neglected  his  literary  life  to 
dwell  upon  his  active  and  passional  existence.  But, 
in  fact,  Columbia  was  familiar  -wdth  Mondel's  poems 
and  works,  and  now  that  his  memoir  furnished  the 
key,  she  took  deeper  glimpses  into  the  dark  abysses 
of  his  nature,  and  its  fiery  intensity  of  volition,  than 
she  had  yet  attempted. 

.  "  And  he  is  gone  !"  murmured  Columbia,  "  he  is 
gone — perhaps  for  ever  !  Oh,  why  did  I  not  receive 
this  package  one  dft^  before  the  vessel  sailed, — one 
single  day !" 


MISFOETUNES.  363 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

MISFORTUNE  S. 

As  villages  are  oft-times  crushed  by  the  fall  of 
an  avalanche,  so  whole  families  are  desolated  by 
the  volcanic  eruption  of  calamities,  which,  unfore- 
seen and  irresistible,  overwhelm  the  fated  victims. 
To-day  they  were  with  us;  .to-morrow  they  are 
gone,  dead,  scattered ;  impoverished  by  crime,  folly, 
or  insanity. 

It  was  thus  with  the  house  of  Atreus.  Tlius 
too,  the  black  wings  of  Destiny  flapped  noiseless 
thunder  over  the  Fifth  Avenue  palace  of  Mr. 
Yonkers. 

Mr.  Yonkers  has,  for  some  time  past,  dealt  largely 
in  bullion,  besides  speculating  in  stocks  to  an 
enormous  extent.  His  notes  were  discounted  at  the 
lowest  rates.  His  credit  was,  in  commercial  parlance, 
A.  1.  in  the  market.  Nevertheless,  a  succession  of 
losses  brought  him,  in  the  space  of  a  few  months, 
to  the  verge  of  ruin.  At  first,  he  refused  to 
believe  it;    but    a    sudden   and    pressing  demand, 


364  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 

wliicli  lie  had  no  means  to  meet,  opened  his  eyes 
to  a  sense  of  liis  true,  or  rather  extremely  false, 
position.  His  whole  complicated  system  of  specu- 
lation was  out  a  huge  bubble.  One  day's  delay 
in  raising  the  sum  required,  and  the  bubble  would 
'  burst. 

It  was  at  this  crisis,  that  he  met  his  very  useful 
friend,  Mr.  Crusher.  Mr.  Crusher  was  only  known 
to  Mr.  Yonkers,  since  a  very  recent  date,  but  their 
transactions  had  been  numerous.  Mr.  Crusher 
bought  a  great  deal  of  bullion  of  Mr.  Yonkers,  for 
which  he  paid  invariably  ready  cash,  down,  and 
not  by  check  as  was  usual.  Mr.  Crusher  was  a 
singular  man,  he  drove  very  hard  bargains;  he 
seemed  to  distrust  everybody;  he  professedly  had  no 
banker,  though  his  pockets  were  always  full  of 
money.  His  air  of  intense  assurance  was  marvel- 
lous, and  the  few  people  who  knew  him,  soon 
learned  to  respect  him  as  a  man  who  at  any  time 
could  command  ten  thousand  dollars,  perhaps  a 
hundred. 

""Well,  Mr.  Crusher,  the  bullion  is  ready  for 
you,"  said  Mr.  Yonkers,  alluding  to  a  large  order 
given  by  Mr.  Crusher,  some  days  before. 

"Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Crusher,  "I  will  call  for 
it  in  an  hour,  and  bring  the  money  with  me. 
1    need    not    impress    upon    you    once    more,   that 


,       MISFORTUNES.  365 

where  political  interests  are  concerned,  secresj  is 
most  requisite." 

"Nuff  sed,"  said  Mr.  Yonkers,  witli  a  feeble 
attempt  at  jocularity;  "by  tlie  way,  have  you 
any  money  to  spare  this  morning?" 

"How  much  do  you  want?"  said  Mr.  Crusher. 

"Twenty-five  thousand  dollars,"  said  Mr.  Yonk- 
ers, "  in  bills  at  one,  two,  and  three  months." 

"  It  is  a  large  amount,"  said  Mr.  Crusher. 

"I  have  just  lent  fifty  thousand  on stocks," 

said  Mr.  Yonkers. 

"Well,  you  shall  have  it,"  said  Mr.  Crusher, 
"that  will  be  one  hundred  and  fifty-thousand  dol- 
lars, altogether.  I  will  bring  the  money,  and 
take  away  the  bullion  in  my  carriage.  You  know, 
I  have  no  banker,  and  trust  nobody,"  said  Mr. 
Crusher,  with  his  diplomatic  smile. 

A  few  minutes  later,  Mr.  Crusher  was  in  his 
office,  ]S"o.  —  Wall  street. 

"I  have  done  it,"  he  cried,  throwing  off  his 
assumed  manner,  and  resuming  his  natural  effront- 
ery. "Slinker,  old  boy,  our  fortunes  are  made. 
Here,  lock  the  outer  door,  and  come  and  help  me 
to  count  out  the  money.  One  hundred  and  fifty- 
thousand  !  it  is  quite  a  sum  to  pass  off  in  one 
transaction.  I  guess  we  shall  not  do  such  another 
stroke  in  a  hurry." 


36G  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  L4MP. 

"But  ain't  it  liorful,  Confidence?"  said  the 
Slinker,  wlio  officiated  as  the  highly  demure  clerk 
of  the  eccentric  capitalist,  and  possibly,  myste- 
rious political  agent,  Mr.  Crusher. 

"  "Well,  it  is  rather  trying^  to  the  nerves,"  said 
Bob,  "  but  faint  heart  never  won  fair  lady ;  so 
go  ahead,  we  must  be  there  in  an  hour." 

Confidence  Bob  was  one  of  those  men  who, 
though  not  physically  brave,  are  morally  audacious 
to  a  degree  scarcely  conceivable  by  more  cautious 
natures. 

The  Slinker  trembled,  but  obeyed. 

In  another  hour  the  triumphant  Alterer  received 
from  his  two  acolytes,  one  hundred  and  twenty  five 
thousand  dollars'  worth  of  gold,  and  the  notes  of  Mr. 
Yonkers,  which  he  immediately  put  in  the  fire,  as  if 
they  had  been  signed  by  a  mere  man  of  straw,  and 
not  by  one  of  the  greatest  speculators  in  ISTew  York. 
"  Here  are  thirty  tliousand  dollars  in  real  bills,"  said 
Berkeley,  "  and  five  thonsand  in  sj)ecie.  So  the 
sooner  you  are  both  disguised  and  out  of  the  city 
the  better." 

"But,"  said  Confidence  Bob,  carefully  examining 
the  bills,  given  him  by  Berkeley,  "  how  do  I  know 
that  these  are  good  ?" 

"If  you  do  not  know,  how  can  any  one  else 
know  ?"  said  the  coimterfeiter  coolly. 


snsroKTuxES.  367 

"I  hope  yon  liaint  playing  liorf  any  tricks  on 
Aw*,"  wliispered  tlie  Slinker. 

"JSTo,  no,  it  is  all  right,"  said  Berkeley  impatiently, 
locking  np  the  bnllion  in  an  immense  iron  safe,  and 
j)utting  the  key  in  his  pocket. 

Half  an  hour  later,  and  an  old  lady  in  spectacles, 
on  the  arm  of  a  red-haired  be-whiskered  gentleman, 
with,  an  immense  fiery  moustache,  emerged  unnoticed 
from  Berkeley's  quiet  dwelling,  its  master  having 
sent  the  old  negress  on  an  errand,  expressly  to  get  rid 
of  her  very  limited  powers  of  observation. 

The  old  woman  in  spectacles  was  the  Slinker. 
The  tall  gentleman  with  red  hair,  whiskers  and 
moustache,  was  the  same  identical  Confidence  Bob, 
who  so  recently  figured  as  the  close-cropped  and 
shaven  Mr,  Crusher  in  Wall  street.  Ilis  suit  of 
immaculate  black  was  exchan2;ed  for  crossbarred 
pantaloons,  a  light  green  surtout,  a  showy  waist- 
coat, and  a  colored  neck-cloth.  His  imposingly  stiff 
shirt  collar,  was  turned  down  with  careless  negli- 
gence, a  little  judicious  padding  gave  him  quite  a 
corpulent  air,  and  a  little  rouge  on  his  cheeks  and 
nose  so  completely  destroyed  his  external  identity, 
that  he  might  have  called  straightway  on  Mh  Yonkers 
himself  without  fear  of  detection. 

Meanwhile,  the  unlucky  nierchant  eagerly  con- 


868  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 

veyed  his  pile  of  forged  notes  to  his  bankers, 
securely  locked  np  in  an  iron  box. 

The  next  day  he  was  a  ruined  man — the  forgery 
was  discovered !  It  is  true,  the  matter  was  hushed 
up,  on  account  of  the  universal  panic  which  such  a 
disclosure  might  have  caused,  for  it  was  with  a  feel- 
ing of  unmitigated  dismay  that  all  the  bankers  in  the 
city  recognized  the  facsimile  copies  of  their  own  bills. 
Of  course  the  office  of  Mr.  Crusher  was  deserted. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  on  which  Mr.  Yonkers 
stopped  payment,  his  wife  eloped  with  John 
Berkeley. 

Columbia  was  moreover  attacked  by  a  mysterious 
illness,  which  showed  more  resemblance  to  a  per- 
petual state  of  trance  than  anything  else.  She 
scarcely  ate  or  drank,  never  spoke,  and  appeared 
utterly  insensible  to  all  external  events.  This  illness 
lasted  for  many  weeks.  When  at  length  she  became 
convalescent,  and,  though  bodily  weak,  spiritually 
collected,  and  capable  of  clear  perception  and  reflec- 
tion, she  found  her  unfortunate  father  not  only  a 
bankrupt  but  a  drunkard.  Always  fond  of  alcoholic 
stimulus,  Mr.  Yonkers,  seeing  the  irremediable  confu- 
sion of  his  affairs,  and  overcome  by  his  domestic 
disgrace  and  misfortunes,  with  his  daughter  appa- 
rently dying  before  his  eyes,  took  swift  and  long 


MISFORTUNES.  369 

strides  in  the  infatuation  of  a  vice  from  wliicli  the 
ambition  of  active  pm-suits  had  long  partially 
protected  him.  Soon  he  became  nnable  to  bear 
existence,  save  in  a  state  cf  complete  or  partial 
intoxication,  and  a  few  days  after  leaving  his  house 
in  the  Fifth  Avenue,  and  removi^ng  to  a  hotel,  within 
six  months  of  the  departm-e  of  Mondel  and  the 
elopement  of  his  wife,  Mr.  Yonkers  was  attacked  by 
delirium  tremens — an  apopletic  stroke  supervened, 
and  he  died  miserable  ;  regretted  only  by  his  beauti- 
ful and  unhappy  daughter,  who  wept  in  paroxysms 
of  grief  over  the  body  of  the  only  friend  she 
imagined  herself  to  possess  in  the  world  ! 

Columbia  was  alone  in  the  world — alone  without 
means,  and  without  friends.  The  once  petted 
heiress,  thanks  to  her  very  intellectual  superiority 
and  eccentricity  of  character,  had  no  intimates  of  her 
own  sex.  Her  father  had  had  no  near  relatives,  and 
his  conduct  previous  to  his  death  had  alienated  his 
few  business  friends,  whom  old  acquaintance  induced 
to  assist  him. 

There  was  not  a  person  she  knew,  to  whom 
Columbia  dared  to  apply  for  aid.  Latterly  her 
wretched  father  had  so  often  requested  her  to  call  on 
people  for  him,  with  requests  for  loans  which  he 
devoted  to  his  infernal  passion,  that  she  felt  no 
courage  to  bear  any  additional  humiliation. 

16* 


370  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LASIP. 

One  vague  liope  sustained  her — Mondel  miglit 
return — return  once  more  to  tlirow  his  great  man's 
soul  and  measureless  devotion  at  her  feet. 

She  sold  her  books  and  trinkets  to  pay  for  her 
father's  funeral.  The  landlord  of  the  hotel  came .  to 
her,  and  not  only  refused  to  accept  payment  of  his 
hill,  but  oifcred  her  a  home,  so  long  as  she  might 
require  it.  The  dazzling  perfection  of  her  beauty, 
the  greatness  of  her  misfortunes,  excited  the  deepest 
interest.  A  strange  gentleman  from  the  South — a 
young  man  of  brilliantly  handsome  exterior,  called 
upon  her,  and  placed  his  fortune  at  her  disposal,  with 
the  most  delicate  possible  hint,  that  in  due  time  he- 
was  only  too  anxious  to  throw  his  person  into  the 
bargain.  A  subscription  was  even  raised  by  the 
ladies  in  the  hotel — one  of  the  largest  and  most 
fashionable  in  the  city — and  most  respectfully  pre- 
sented to  her. 

But  Columbia,  with  superb  pride,  which  grief 
seemed  only  to  have  exalted  and  intensified,  grace- 
fully but  firmly  refused  all  ofi'ers  of  assistance,  and 
one  day,  quietly  making  her.  way  to  Mrs.  Normer's 
house,  said  simply — 

"  Madam,  can  you  take  me  as  a  boarder  ?" 

The  amiable  and  pretty  face  of  Mondel's  former 
landlady  was  hidden  on  Columbia's  shoulder  before 
the  blonde  poetess  had  half  finished  the  story  of  her 
misfortunes. 


SIISrOKTUKES,  371 

"I  will  try  to  be  a  mother  to  you — and  poor  as  I 
am,  whilst  I  live  this  house  shall  be  your  home," 
said  Mrs.  ITormer,  sobbing. 

"  You  are  too  young,  madam,  to  be  a  mother  to 
me,"  said  Columbia,  wiping  away  Mrs.  ISTormer's 
tears,  with  an  exquisite  gentleness,  "  and  I  am  too 
proud  to  be  anybody's  pensioner.  Let  me  board  with 
you,  and  pay  the  usual  price,  or  I  must  seek  a  home 
elsewhere." 

"  As  you  will,"  said  Mrs.  Normer,  regarding  her 
beautiful  visitor  with  unceasing  admiration.  "By 
the  way,  I  must  give  you  Mr.  Mondel's  rooms. 
They  are  the  only  ones  I  have  vacant  at  present." 

Columbia  trembled  and  blushed.      The  idea  of 

occupying  the  apartments,  of  sleeping  in  the  bed, 

'Once  occupied  by  Mondel,  was  to  her  a  strange  and 

electrifying  thought.     She  felt  as  if  his  spirit  might 

yet  haunt  the  chambers. 

"  And  what  do  you  propose  to  do  ?"  said  Mi-s. 
Kormer. 

'"To  work,"  said  Columbia. 

"  To  work  ?" 

"  I  mean  to  write,"  sighed  the  authoress,  "  to 
write  for  my  bread,  as  hitherto  I  have  written  for 
my  pleasure." 

The  very  next  day,  Columba's  writing  desk  was 
opened  on  the  very  table  at  which    Mondel  had 


372  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE  LAMP. 

written  so  many  of  his  wild,  soul-stirring  composi- 
tions. She  sat  in  the  very. arm-chair  which  he  had 
occupied,  and  commenced  her  first  magazine  article, 
with  an  unconscious  quotation  from  the  Slave  of  the 
Lamp,  that  treasm'ed  and  often-read  manuscript. 
But  even  as  she  was  about  to  commence,  that  good 
angel,  Mrs.  former,  glided  slowly  into  the  room,  and 
laying  a  small  morocco  case  upon  the  table,  said 
gently— 

"  A  present  for  you — which  you  cannot  refuse  " — 
and  Mrs.  ISTormer  vanished  almost  before  Columbia 
raised  her  eyes  from  her  paper. 

Mrs.  former's  present  was  a  splendid  daguerreo- 
type of  Mondel. 

Columbia  started  with  dfelight.  She  then  gazed 
long  and  earnestly  at  the  grave,  sad  countenance  of 
her  lover,  kissed  passionately  the  glass  which  covered 
it,  and  murmured  pensively — 

"  How  glad  I  am  that  he  stole  mine  from  the 
drawing-room  table  ! — I  know  he  took  it — for  who 
else  could  it  have  been  ?" 

"  IsTow  let  me  see,"  said  Columbia ;  "  what  shall  I 
write  ? — a  love  tale  ?  Yes,  a  tale  of  happy  love  !" 
and  Columbia  began  to  write,  and  in  a  few  hours 
produced  a  sketch  of  which  she  was  the  heroine,  and 
Mondel  so  unmistakably  the  hero,  that  she  tore  it 
up  in  despair. 


MISFORTUNES.  373 

"  This  will  never  do !"  she  cried,  "  I  must  write 
something  very  different — something  about  the  an- 
cient Kings  of  Madagascar,  and  a  young  princess 
who  had  a  jealous  step-mother;  yes  that  will  do,  and 
as  the  characters  of  the  story  will  be  black,  who 
knows  but  I  may  make  a  second  Uncle  Tom  repu- 
tation !" 

Columbia  smiled  as  she  thus  spoke  to  herself,  and 
already  the  spirit  of  a/rt  began  to  whisper  consolation 
to  her  wounded  heart  and  distracted  mind. 

What  would  Mondel  have  given  could  he  have 
seen  her  at  that  moment ! 

What  would  he  have  given  ? — His  life,  his  fortune, 
his  prospects ;  all  the  golden  islands  ever  dreamed  of ! 

I  once  read  a  curious  story  in  a  magazine 
more  than  a  hundred  years  old.  It  was  entitled 
"All  for  the  want  of  knowing  one  another,"  and 
dwelt  upon  the  vexatious  reflection  that  if  people 
only  knew  one  another,  there  would  be  perfect 
happiness  in  the  world.  I  was  much  struck  by  it. 
But  if  all  the  world  were  clairvoj^ant,  history  would 
run  up  a  tree.  Romance  and  adventure  would  be  at 
an  end. 

No,  no,  it  is  better  as  it  is  ;  there  is  at  least  excite- 
ment in  a  lottery ;  and  as  Nature  knows  her  own 
business  best,  the  destinies  are,  after  all,  sure  to  be 
accomplished. 


374  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 

Thus  Colnmbia  sits  down  to  write  articles  for 
magazines,  and  Mondel  steers  Lis  course  towards  the  • 
antarctic  zone.  Tliey  'might  have  been  happier  seated 
on  a  velvet  sofa,  kissing  one  another,  and  whispering 
vows  of  adoration?  But  who  dares  arraign  the 
unknown  Gods  of  Time  ?  Let  the  Anarchs  of 
Eternity  judge  them ! 


THE   YOYAC.]';   10   TIIV:    GOUWN    ISLAXT).  375 


CHAPTER    XXVIL 

THE   YOYAGE   TO   THE   GOLDEN   ISLAND. 

No  rest  came  to  Mondel's  mind  till  the  Columbia 
was  out  of  sight  of  land.  Then,  and  not  till  then,  his 
deep  sympathy  with  the  element  on  which  he  had 
first  seen  the  light,  began  to  exercise  a  soothing 
influence  over  his  thoughts. 

"  Never,"  said  he,  to  Peregrine  Cope,  who  stood 
by  him  on  the  starboard  side  of  the  quarter-deck, 
near  the  wheel-house,  "  never  have  I,  in  all  my  life, 
known  real  peace  of  mind,  save  when  at  sea !  unless 
it  were,  perhaps,  w^hen  a  boy  I  wandered  by  its 
shore,  and  watched  the  waves  as  they  came  in  break- 
ing upon  the  sea-weed  tangled  rocks,  or  flattening 
on  the  smooth  brown  sand — to  my  feet,  more  plea- 
sant walking  than  the  greenest  grass,  or  the  most 
purple  heath,  or  the  most  velvety  moss  in  creation ! 
How  many  thousand  fantastic  variations  has  my 
imagination  played  on  that  one  theme — the  breaking 
of  the  waves  upon  tho  shore  ! 

"  But  it  is  chiefly  in  the  roar  and  lashing  of  the 


376  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE  LAMP. 

storm,  tliat  my  spirit  seems  to  expand  and  vibrate  in 
harmony  with  natm-e.  Then,  for  a  time,  the  long 
pain  seems  lulled,  and  a  frenetic  sombre  exhilaration 
to  fill  all  my  being,  more  potent  than  the  fumes  of 
opium  or  hasheesh,  more  on  a  level  with  the  mad 
intoxication  of  love  or  the  fierce  excitement  of 
battle!" 

Night  descended — all  slept  but  the  watch,  and  still 
Mondel  remained  upon  deck,  his  eyes  alternately 
resting  upon  the  stars  and  upon  the  sea. 

"Oh,  how  each  knot  we  run  increases  the  pain  of 
separation  from  the  one  centre  of  hope !"  sighed  the 
adventurer,  as  he  leaned  over  the  taffrail  to  leeward 
and  watched  the  phosphorescent  sparkles  of  the 
watei-s.  "  Shall  I  ever  behold  that  shape,  that  peer- 
less shape,  those  glorious  blue  eyes  again?  Yet, 
why  desire  that  which  could  only  bring  increase  of 
misery  ?  She  does  not  love  me — and  I,  have  I  no 
pride,  no  secret  fund  of  force  to  struggle  with  this 
insane  delusion,  this  unreasonable  passion? 

"No,  no,  a  thousand  times,  no!  There  is  no 
remedy  for  such  love  as  mine.  Where  can  I  find 
beauty  more  perfect,  a  soul  more  elevated,  yet  more 
exquisitely  feminine  ?  Can  I  deny  perfection  ?  Can 
I  refute  my  own  matured  and  cultivated  judgment  ? 

And  she ,  is  it  possible  that  the  Fates  can  be  so 

cruel  as  to  leave  her  indifi'erent  to  such  a  love  as 


THE   VOYAGE   TO   THE   GOLDEN  ISLAND.  377 

mine?  AVhat  can  I  henceforward  become — a  Don 
Juan,  a  trifling  sensualist,  a  prating  politician,  a 
pompous  poet  ?  What  is  all  petty  praise  and  vulgar 
admiration  to  the  man  who  has  lost  a  Paradise  of 
happiness  ?  All  these  things  I  can  imagine  with  the 
certainty  that  if  I  willed  I  could  attain.  But  Colum- 
bia!— to  imagine  such  happiness  as  her  love  would 
bring  is  utter  torture,  the  feast  of  Tantalus,  the  toil 
of  the  Danaides — it  is  the  mania  for  the  impossible, 
the  dream  of  the  non-existent." 

And  Mondel  repeated  to  himself,  a  thousand 
times.  "  Fool,  she  never  loved  you ;"  but  a  myster 
rious  voice  like  that  of  the  demon  of  Socrates, 
would  still  whisper  like  a  bad  echo — "loved  yoU; 
loved  you !" 

*  -se-  *  *  *  * 

The  ship's  company  consisted  of  Mondel,  Peregrine 
Cope,  the  Professor,  and  the  begging  gambler;  of 
a  first,  second,  and  third  mate,  an  engineer,  assist- 
ant engineer,  a  caq^enter,  the  doctor — that  is  the 
cook — a  negro,  and  twelve  men,  before  the  mast. 

The  Professor  officiated  as  purser — a  humorous 
example  of  the  viscissitudes  of  human  adventure. 

Mondel  was  in  uncontrolled  command,  though 
the  first  mate  might  be  said  to  be  acting  master, 
as  far  as  the  managment  and  navigation  of  the 
vessel    was    concerned.       But    Mondel    was    much 


378  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

occupied  in    the    engine    room.     On    the    care   of 
the    engine,   everything    depended,  and    simple    as 
was  its   construction,   its  inventor  watched  it  with 
the  interest  of  a  fathfer  in  his  child.      This  it  was, 
which,  in  the  eyes   of  his   crew  and  oflEicers,   gave 
Mondel    a  weight    and    importance,  which    caused 
them   to  forget  the  anomaly  of   an  amateur  com- 
mander.    The  ship  was,   as  it   were,   his  creation. 
He   seemed  to  be  its  soul,  and  it  an  organ   of  his 
will.      Moreover,    the    silent    and    gloomy  Mondel 
showed    no    ignorance    of   any   maritime    matters; 
seemed  fully   conversant  with  nautical  terms,   and 
when  he    spoke  to    the    crew,   which  was    rarely, 
spoke  with   a  brevity,   a   decision,  and   a  look   of 
command,    which    bore     no    criticism.     Alas!    the 
mysterious  fact  of   his  birth  upon  the  ocean,  gave 
him   a  superstitious    prestige  in    the    eyes   of  the 
veriest   old  salt   on  board.      Soon,   Mondel  himself 
became  familiar  with  his    new    position;    and    as 
weeks  passed  away,  and  the  ship  yet  cut  the  water 
like   a  shark,  his  transports  of  despair  abated,  and 
a  settled  melancholy  took  their  place,  which  never 
varied — unless  at  times  when  a  mood  of  boisterous 
humor  would  come  over  him,  and  he  would  joke 
and  laugh    loudl}-   with   Cope,   and    even  with  his 
officers.    But  his  laughing  mood  ended  as  abruptly 
as  it  began,   and    moving    away,  he    would    once 


THE   VOYAGE   TO   THE   GOLDEN   ISLAND.  379 

more  gaze  for  liours  in  silence  on  tlie  dark  blue 
waters. 

Not  five  weeks  had  elapsed,  since  lie  departed 
from  JSTew  York,  and  tlie  Columbia  had  doubled 
Cape  Horn,  and  reached  tlie  placid  waters  of  the 
Pacific.  Still,  onward  sped  the  vessel,  at  a  rate 
unparalleled  in  nautical  annals,  making  its  twenty 
knots  an  hour,  in  the  very  teeth  of  a  stiff  breeze, 
more  like  some  huge  leviathan  of  the  deep,  than 
a  machine  built  by  hand,  of  timber  and  iron  and 
copper. 

Another  week  had  elapsed,  when  one  forenon, 
a  huge  black  cloud,  bearing  a  fantastic  resemblance 
to  a  crowned  giant,  mounted  on  a  colossal  winged 
lion,  rose  unexpectedly  on  the  western  horizon, 
surrounded  and  followed  by  a  band  of  brother  mon- 
sters, at  first  edged  with  brilliant  golden  hues,  which 
soon  dissolved  into  tawny  shadows,  lit  till  the 
whole  spectral  array  of  vapors,  imiting  in  an 
impenetrable  phalanx,  overshadowed  the  heavens 
with  a  cajdopy  of  darkness,  clashiiig  their  shields 
with  reverberating  strokes  of  thimder,  and  darting 
their  fiery  spears  from  pole  to  pole,  whilst  from 
the  inky  sea,  uprose  in  fierce  emulation,  armies 
of  crested  waves,  rolling  upon  the  other,  like 
insurgent  nations,  till  all  fanciful  distinctions  were 
lost  in  the  chaotic  fury  of  the  tempest. 


880   -        THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

The  ship  pitched,  and  rolled,  and  strained,  and 
groaned  as  savage  ISTeptune,  with  his  clenched 
fist,  struck  blow  after  blow,  upon  its  mighty  ribs ; 
ever  and  anon,  some  reckless  pirate  of  a  wave, 
leaping  over  the  bulwarks,  drenched  to  the  skin 
those  who  upon  deck  held  on  for  their  lives  to 
ropes  or  belaying  pins,  whilst  the  hoarse  voices 
of  the  ship's  officers  were  drowned  in  the  mingled 
war  of  the  elements,  till  finally,  a  deluge  of  water 
from  above,  rendered  all  pretentions  to  dry  clothes 
on  deck  a  mockery.  The  sailors  huddled  forward 
in,  to  them,  strange  inactivity,  for  the  absence  of 
sails  deprived  them  of  the  hardest  part  of  their 
usual  duty,  felt  themselves  given  up  to  Destiny, 
whilst  Mondel,  for  the  first  time  since  he  had 
departed  on  his  voyage  of  adventure,  felt  the  all- 
absorbing  horror  of  his  inward  grief  and  despair 
relieved  by  the  exciting  sense  of  peril,  and  the 
necessity  for  real  exertion.  It  was  soon  necessary 
to  stop  the  engines,  and  .  to  trust  solely  for  head- 
way, to  an  auxiliary  propeller,  worked  by  the  very 
motion  of  the  vessel  itself,  and  which,  of  slight 
efi'ect  in  calmer  seas,  now  became  a  power  of 
very  considerable  importance.  The  hatches  were 
fastened  down,  and  all  on  board  awaited  the  result 
which  such  equanimity  as  their  respective  tem- 
peraments afibrded. 


THE   VOYAGE   TO   THE   GOLDEN    ISLAND.  381 

More  than  once  when  a  tremendous  wave  struck 
the  ship  and  caused  her  to  quiver  from  stern  to  stem 
with  a  mute  agony,  the  boldest  of  the  ship's  com- 
pany prepared  themselves  f)r  a  longer  and  more 
adventurous  voyage.  Mondel  and  Cope  exchanged 
the  thoughts  of  philosophers.  The  first  mate  and 
the  Professor  expressed,  each  in  their  way,  a  rude 
confidence  in,  and  submission  to,  the  invisible  powers 
of  Nature.  But  there  was  one  man  on  board  whose 
long  over-excited  brain,  unstrung  by  its  recent  priva- 
tion of  habitual  stimulus,  became,  under  the  influence 
of  the  storm-terror,  a  complete  wreck  in  the  confusion 
of  its  sensations  and  the  extravagance  of  its  develop- 
ments. 

It  was  the  begging  Gambler,  the  originator  of  the 
cruise,  the  discoverer  of  the  Island  Eldorado. 

It*happened  that  in  the  hurry  of  fastening  down 
the  hatches,  he  found  himself  amongst  the  sailors 
in  the  forecastle,  and  to  them,  for  the  first  time 
forgetting  all  the  injunctions  of  Mondel,  he  opened 
his  mouth,  and  disclosed  the  secret  object  of  the 
voyage,  and  the  nature  of  the  hopes  which  animated 
their  commander  to  the  enterprise. 

From  these  mad  ravings  sprang  the  germ  of  that 
Upas  tree  of  death  which  was  to  throw  a  blood- 
stained mantle  over  the  future  success  of  tlie  expedi- 
tion. 


382  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE    LAMP. 

On  that  day,  amid  the  fury  of  that  storm,  was 
developed  in  the  heart  of  a  man,  the  black  thought 
of  mntiny,  hereafter  to  become  fertile  in  action  and 
disaster. 

This  man's  name  was  David  Borack.  He  was  the 
best  sailor  on  board.  In  stature  he  was  full  six  feet 
and  a  span,  of  gigantic  frame,  and  to  those  who 
knew  him,  formidable  as  a  fierce,  brutal,  and  quarrel- 
some ruffian.  But  with  all  this  he  had  a  rude 
plausibility  and  seeming  frankness  of  manner  which 
acted  very  effectually  on  weaker  natures  than  his 
own.  In  appearance  he  was  not  ill-looking,  though 
his  features  were  coarse  and  large.  His  eyes  were 
of  a  jetty  blackness.  His  lips  full  and  sensual,  and 
his  hair  and  beard  of  a  black  wiry  textnre.  His 
enormous  hands  were  covered  with  hair  even  to  the 
finger  tips,  and  he  had  a  habit  of  contracting  his 
bushy  brows  till  they  met,  when  he  spoke,  and 
showing  the  white  of  his  eye  all  round  the  pupil, 
when  he  looked  intently  at  any  one,  which  gave  him 
a  truly  diabolical  aspect. 

Mondel  had  desired  to  form  his  crew  of  bold  and 
adventurous  materials.  JSTevertheless  he  had  never 
much  liked  the  looks  of  David  Borack,  and  soon 
had  occasion  to  discover  that  he  was  a  troublesome 
personage. 

Borack  was  the  only  man  on  board  who  ever  gave 


'! 


THE   VOYAGE   TO   THE   GOLDEN   ISLAND.  8S3 

Mondel  an  insolent  word  by  replying  to  one  of  the 
latter's  commands,  whicli  lie  gave  in  a  moment  of 
abstraction,  by  a  laugh  and  a  mnttered  allusion  to 
landlubbers.  Mondel,  recalled  to  himself,  corrected 
his  order  calmly,  then,  looking  sternly  at  the  refrac- 
tory giant,  said  very  slowly,  "  Landlubber  or  not, 
you  will  find  that  I  am  captain  in  my  own  shij). 
Unless  you  wish  to  make  a  three  months  voyage 
in  irons,  remember  it." 

Borack  never  forgot  that  look.  From  that  moment 
he  did  his  duty  without  venturing  on  a  word,  either 
to  Mondel  or  his  officers.  But  when  he  learned 
from  the  strange,  half-crazed  Gambler  the  golden 
secret,  Borack  meditated  mischief.  He  managed  to 
scrape  acquaintance  with  the  assistant  engineer,  and 
heard  him  boast  complacently  of  his  own  perfect 
capacity  to  direct  the  engine.  'Next,  David  Borack 
fixed  on  the  second  mate  as  the  one  officer  who 
mio-ht  be  induced  to  favor  his  scheme. 

The  first  and  third  mates  were  brothers ;  John,  and 
Edward  "Wallace.  Tliey  were  both  tall,  fair,  and 
blue-eyed,  with  the  open,  gentlemanly  air  of  good 
seamen,  and  men  of  respectable  birth  and  education. 
Both  had,  in  nautical  parlance,  crept  in  tlirough  the 
cabin  window.  But  John,  the  elder,  who  was  some 
six  and  twenty  years  of  age,  was,  especially,  a  first 
rate  navigator  and  practical  seaman.     His  brother 


384:  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 

was  four  years  younger,  but  equally  efficient  in  pro- 
portion to  liis  experience. 

The  second  mate's  name  was  Richard  Grote.  He 
was  scarcely  five  feet  four  inches  in  height,  though 
broad-chested  as  the  Farnese  Hercules,  and  of  prodi- 
gious personal  strength.  His  face  was  set  in  a  frame 
of  bushy  red  whiskers,  and  his  small  green  eyes  had 
the  brilliancy  and  quickness  of  a  serpent's.  His 
avarice  was  unbounded,  and  he  was  reported  to  have 
already  accumulated,  and  invested  ashore,  quite  a 
comparative  fortune.  There  was  no  sentiment  about 
Richard  Grote.  He  was  a  child  of  the  streets,  and 
had  roughed  it  for  five  and  thirty  years  in  all  possi- 
ble latitudes.  To  the  men  he  would  have  been  a 
bully  and  a  tyrant  had  he  dared  with  such  eyes 
upon  him  as  Mondel's,  who,  though  never  familiar 
with  the  sailors,  particularly  insisted  on  their  good 
treatment  in  every  possible  way. 

Amongst  the  sailors,  Borack  placed  his  great  reli- 
ance on  Hans  Rodde,  the  Dutchman. 

Hans  Rodde  was  the  favorite  of  the  forecastle. 
About  five  feet  eight  inches  in  stature,  and  twenty- 
three  or  four  years  of  age,  Hans  possessed  a  face  of 
almost  feminine  delicacy,  large  soft  brown  eyes, 
shining  with  a  wicked  lustre,  and  dark  curling  hair ;  a 
flexile,  slightly  sarcastic  mouth,  and  a  figure  so  cor- 
rectly proportioned,  that  no  unpractised  eye  would 


THE   VOYA.GE   TO   THE   GOLDEN   ISLAND.  385 

have  suspected  the  prodigious  strength  it  was  capable 
of  developing.  The  thrashing,  however,  which  he 
administered  so  easily  to  Ben  Grizzle,  next  to  Borack, 
the  biggest  and  heaviest  man  on  board,  opened  the 
eyes  of  his  comrades  to  his  merits  as  a  fighting  man. 
For  the  rest,  Hans  Bodde,  though  a  Dutchman  by 
origin,  spoke  English  without  a  foreign  accent,  and 
had  received  the  rudiments  of  a  better  education 
than  the  rest  of  his  shipmates.  But  though  he 
expressed  himself  in  choicer  language,  and  with  a 
more  elegant  manner  than  the  rest,  he  infinitely 
Bui'passed  them  all  in  devices  of  the  most  horrible 
and  unimaginable  atrocity.  !ITever  were  they  tired 
of  listening  to  his  stories  and  laughing  at  his  jokes,  in 
which  the  impurity  was  only  equalled  by  the  utter 
want  of  any  apparent  sense  of  conscientiousness.  In 
a  word,  Hans  Rodde's  external  gentleness  of  manner 
concealed  the  cruel  fierceness  of  a  young  tiger,  with 
all .  that  beautiful  but  detestable  animal's  most 
treacherous  and  murderous  instincts. 

Ben  Grizzle  was  a  huge  grumbling  fellow,  of  some 
two-and-thirty,  who  might  be  well  defined  as'  two 
yards  of  thirst  and  laziness,  or  thereabouts. 

Of  the  remaining  sailors  we  need  not  speak  more 
particularly  at  present. 

When  the  storm  subsided,  it  proved  fortunately 
that  no  serious  damage  was  done,  and  the  Columbia 

17 


386  _  TTIE   SLAVE   OF  THE  LAMP. 

(which,  iu  Mondel's  lover-hke  superstition,  bore  a 
charmed  existence)  once  more  pursued  her  course 
towards  the  point  in  the  chart  indicated  by  the  beg- 
gar's recollections. 

Already  they  had  reached  the  necessary  latitude, 
and  had  twice  crossed  and  re-crossed  the  supposed 
meridian,  after  repeatedly  taking  the  most  careful 
observations.  A  look-out  was  continually  kept  at 
the  mast-head,  and  since  the  crew  were  infornied  of 
the  great  secret,  every  soul  on  board  was  equally 
anxious  for  the  hoped-for  cry  of  "  la7id .'" 

At  length  it  came,  and  Mondel  descried  through 
his  glass  the  outline  of  a  rocky  island,  answering  in 
every  respect  to  the  descrij)tion  of  the  Gambler. 

Peter  Quartz,  who,  throughout  the  voyage,  had 
hitherto  been  silent  and  abstracted,  amused  himself 
mainly  by  murmuring  to  himself,  as  he  generally 
pervaded  the  vessel,  "  Latitude,  longitude,"  till  his 
old  nickname  ashore,  spontaneously  revived  amongst 
the  sailors,  and  he  was  Old  Latitude  and  Longitude 
on  board  the  Columbia,  as  of  old  in  the  gambling 
hells  of  Gotham.  | 

As  they  neared  the  land,  perpendicular  rocks  and 
the  vast  cone-like  mountain,  with  its  craggy  preci- 
pices and  barren  surfaces,  became  clearly  visible. 

Before  night  the  Columbia  was  anchored  in  a  con- 
venient roadstead,  and  a  boat,  containing  Mondel,  the 


THE   VOYAGE   TO   THE   GOLDEN   ISLAND.  38 1 

Gambler,  Cope,  the  third  mate,  and  four  sailors,  had 
effected  a  landing,  and  within  half  an  hour,  Mondel, 
advancing  before  the  rest  on  the  beach,  waved  for 
those  in  the  shij)  the  yellow  flag,  which  was  to  be 
the  signal  of  the  complete  and  absolute  confirmation 
of  the  statements  of  the  guide  he  had  trusted. 

"  We  are  all  rich  men  !"  was  the  first  thought  that 
swelled  the  heart  of  every  weather-beaten  man,  who 
had  made  that  voyage  of  wonder.  We  shall  never 
more  Imow  poverty !  we  need  toil  no  more !  our 
future  is  a  future  of  enjoyment !  We  have  but  to 
wish  and  to  receive  !  The  yellow  talisman  is  ours  ! 
We  are  princes,  potentates,  and  powers,  till  Death  . 
relieves  us  of  necessity !" 

The  pale  blue  eyes  of  Peter  Quartz  flashed  with  a 
strange  fire. 

Even  Mondel  was  not  without  his  share  of  this 
mighty  and  too  human  exultation  ! 

He  too  had  tasted  the  bitterness  of  poverty,  tho 
mortification  of  embarrassment,  the  humiliation  of 
debt.  He  knew  too  thoroughly  the  horrors  which 
afllict  this  pauper  planet,  not  to  appreciate  most 
intensely  the  triumph  of  possessing  a  power  which  is 
universal  empire — the  power  of  gold ! 

But  whilst  all  the  rest  of  the  crew  save  Cope  and 
Mondel,  went  almost  mad  with  joy,  these  two  friends 
and  philosophers  made   all  theii*  arrangements  for 


388  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 

taking  in  a  cargo  of  the  precious  metal  as  speedily  as 
possible  in  order  to  return,  before  their  stores  were 
■  exhausted,  and  enjoy  the  fruits  of  their  adventure. 

Mondel  then  devised  a  system  of  division  by  which 
two-fifths  of  the  cargo  should  be  the  property  of  the 
owners,  one-fifth  of  it  Peter  Quartz,  the  discoverer  of 
the  Island,  one-fifth  to  be  divided  amongst  the 
officers  in  certain  proportions,  and  the  remaining  fifth 
to  be  equally  shared  by  the  crew.  He  explained  to 
the  latter  that  as  each  would  have  more  than  he 
would  probably  be  ever  able  to  spend,  it  was  utterly 
absurd  to  attempt  any  foolish  plans  of  secretion,  since 
moreover,  he  determined  that  before  leaving  the  ship, 
it  should  be  well  ascertained  that  no  one  took  a 
single  pound  of  gold  away  beyond  his  share  of  the 
common  stock. 

This  arrangement  was  absolutely  necesssary  to 
check  the  wild  infatuation  which  seized  on  the  poor 
men  at  the  aspect  of  the  gold. 

In  less  than  a  week  all  was  complete.  The 
Columbia  bore  in  her  hold  such  a  treasure  as  no 
earthly  monarch  yet  even  dreamed  of  possessing,  and 
Mondel — Mondel  the  poet,  the  adventurer,  the 
dreamer,  was  the  richest  man  upon  the  face  of  the 
earth — aye  richer  than  a  hundred  Kothschilds. 
And  in  the  midst  of  all  his  incalculable  wealth  he 
had  but  one  thought — to  return  to  New  York,  and 


THE    VOYAGE   TO    rilE    GOLDEN    ISLAND.  389 

once  more  to  make  a  last  effort  to  soften  tlie  indiffer- 
ence of  the  only  real  treasure  wliicli  lie  believed  in 
— Colombia. 

How  willingly,  to  ensure  tlie  possession  of  that 
blonde  maiden  and  her  love,  would  he  have  seen  all 
his  gold  sunk  in  the  blue  Pacific,  and  returned  a 
penniless  adventurer,  once  more  to  recommence  the 
hard  struggle  with  the  devils  incarnate  of  this  selfish 
Pandemonium,  called  the  world. 

Tte  ship  was  loaded  with  gold.  But  before  leav- 
ing the  island,  one  thing  remained  to  be  done — to 
gratify  a  traveller's  curiosity.  The  island  was 
explored  in  all  directions.  'No  symtoms  of  vegeta- 
tion were  discovered,  no  sign  of  living  animal,  or 
even  nest  of  bird.  IsTothing  could  be  more  utterly 
inhospitable — not  even  a  spring  of  fresh  water  was 
detected — a  bitter  disappointment,  for  a  supply  of 
water  was  desirable,  and  its  want  might  necessitate  a 
visit  to  some  other  of  the  Polynesian  Isles,  whilst  all 
agreed  in  one  longing  to  return  home,  and  commence 
reaping  the  harvest  of  their  golden  expedition. 

Lastly,  Mondel,  Cope,  and  the  greater  part  of  the 
crew,  including  the  Professor  and  the  Gambler,  made 
a  grand  ascent  of  the  conical  mountain,  and  after 
immense  exertion,  succeeded  in  reaching  its  summit 
and  looking  down  into  the  crater. 

Imagine  their  astonishment  on  beholding  in  the 


390'  Tins   SLAVE   OP   THE   LAMP. 

centre  of  tliis  crater,  with,  almost  perpendicular  sides, 
at  a  deptli  of  some  hundreds  of  feet,  a  lake  of  water, 
in.  which  the  blue  sky  and  the  sides  of  the  crater 
itself,  -with,  the  figures  of  the  adventurers  on  the  mar- 
gin, were  reflected  with  the  accuracy  of  a  plate-glass 
mirror. 

This  lake  was,  perhaps,  a  third  of  a  mile  in  diame- 
ter. ITothing  can  give  any  idea  of  its  intense 
lucidity  and  motionless  smoothness. 

"  I  wonder  if  it  is  salt  water  or  fresh  ?"  said  Cope, 
regarding  the  lake  with  unmitigated  amazement. 

"  It  looJcs  fresh,"  said  Mondel,  however,  that  is  no 
criterion. 

"I  should  be  sorry  to  back  myself  to  drink  a 
gallon  of  it,"  said  the  Professor. 

""We  are  all  too  rich  to  bet  now,"  said  the  first 
mate,  laughing. 

"  I  see  no  possibility  of  descending,"  said  Cope. 

"  ITor  do  I,"  said  Mondel. 

"  Nor  I,"  said  the  mate. 

"  Nor  I,"  said  each,  of  the  rest,  in  succession. 

The  discoverer  of  the  island  alone  said  nothing, 
but,  at  some  distance  from  the  rest,  remained  with  his 
eyes  fixed,  as  if  fascinated,  on  the  watery  mirror 
below. 

Suddenly — whether  it  was  that  a  vertigo  seized 
him  from  looking  over  the  precipice,  or  that  the 


THE   VOYAGE   TO    THE   GOLDEN   ISLAJsTD.  391 

edge  of  the  rock  on  wliicli  lie  stood  simply  gave  way 
beneath  his  feet — suddenly  with  an  unearthly  slii-iek, 
that  awoke  a  thousand  piercing  echoes  from  the  walls 
of  the  rock-built  amphitheatre,  the  unfortunate 
Gambler  lost  his  equilibrium,  fell  over  the  edge  of 
the  crater,  and  as  the  rock  on  which  he  stood  slightly 
overhung  the  lake,  was  precipitated  in  an  instant 
into  its  deptlis. 

But  no,  strange  phenomenon!  the  body  of  the 
unfortunate  man  scarcely  disappeared  beneath  the 
surface,  before  it  reappeared,  extended  as  on  a  real 
mirror;  so  rapidly  did  the  lake  recover  its  mar- 
vellous smoothness;  and  what  was,  of  all,  the  most 
strange  thing  to  behold,  the  body  reappeared  after 
its  immersion,  to  all'  appearances  converted  into  a 
statue  of  silver ! 

Mute  horror  seized  all  present  at  this  astoimding 
spectacle. 

A  dead  silence  followed  the  hideous  miracle. 

The  superstitious  sailors  began  to  have  vague 
thoughts  of  enchanted  islands  and  the  devil.  Ben 
Grizzle,  even,  put  the  question  to  himself,  whether 
all  was  not  illusion  on  the  isle,  and  whether  the 
gold  might  not  dissolve  like  "  an  unsubstantial 
pageant,"  or,  if  not  actually  fantastical,  prove  to 
be  lumps  of  sulphur  or  sandstone  ! 

Such  were  Ben  Grizzle's  reflections,  and  not  his 


'392  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

alone;  others  liad  fancies  wliicli  differed  from  iiia 
only  in  form,  not  in  substance. 

Tlieir  philosophic  captain  observed  the  pheno- 
menon, and  being  inaccessible  to  all  superstitions 
but  love,  simply  summed  up  its  features,  and 
arrived  at  a  practical  conclusion. 

"  It  is  a  lake  of  quicksilver,"  said  Mondel. 

"  Of  quicksilver  ?"  cried  Cope. 

"  Most  assuredly,"  how  else  explain  the  fact,  that 
a  body  becomes  silvered  over,  and  remains  upon  its 
surface. 

"  It  is  indeed  strange." 

"  Kot  at  all ;  quicksilver  is  seventeen  times 
heavier  than  water ;  a  human  body  therefore  dis- 
places less  one-seventeenth  of  its  bulk,  so  little, 
in  fact,  that  it  scarcely  indents  the  liquid  metal 
— which  gold  and  platina  alone  surpass  in  gravity.^' 

"What  are  we  to  do,  sir?"  said  the  first  mate. 

" ISTothing ;"  we  can  (io  nothing.  "The  man  was 
dead  the  moment  he  sank  beneath  the  poisonous 
lake,  whose  fumes  we  ought  to  fly  as  from  a  pesti- 
lence. Besides,  descent  is  impossible,  and  with  the 
sun  now  shining  vertically,  to  stay  here  is  suicidal. 
We  must  care  for  the  living,  let  the  dead  care  for 
themselves." 

And  with  a  last  look  at  the  glittering  form,  that 
lay  extended  on  the  lake,  now  blazing  with  unen- 


THE  VOYAGE   TO   THE   GOLDEN   ISLAND.  393 

durable  brightness,  from  the  effect  of  the  fierce 
solar  sajs.  Moudel  and  Cope  followed  their  already 
retreating  companions  towards  the  boats,  eager  to 
abandon  an  abode  of  horrors,  such  as  not  unfre- 
quentlj  accompany  the  presence  of  unboimded 
treasures. 

Within  the  space  of  a  few  hours,  the  Columbia 
had  left  the  setting  sun,  and  the  golden  island 
behind  her,  and  the  shades  of  evening  began  to  fall 
prematurely  on  the  body  of  the  mendicant  Gambler. 

Lord  of  unbounded  wealth,  triumphantly  success- 
ful in  the  great  object  of  his  life,  Peter  Quartz  died, 
like  many  a  greater  man,  upon  the  very  eve  of 
realizing  that  worldly  enjoyment  which  he  had 
known  but  as  a  desire,  a  hope,  a  far-off  vision. 

Thus,  conquerors  have  died  in  the  horn-  of  victory, 
genius  on  the  threshold  of  glory. 

"It  is  strange,"  said  Mondel  to  Cope,  as  he 
looked  down  into  the  engine  room,  from  the  main- 
deck,  "  that  the  same  imprisoned  god  which  bore 
him  to  his  destiny,  should  also  give  him  welcome 
to  the  land  of  shadows." 

"  Who  knows  but  that  his  spii-it  will  be  translated 
to  the  planet  Mercury .?"  said  Cope,  smihng  sadly. 

"I  have  no  pity  for  the  dead,"  said  Mondel,  "  and 
in  this  case,  there  are  no  living  sufferers  to  deplore 
the  loss  of  a  protector. 

17* 


394  THE   6LAYE   OF  THE  LAMP. 

"  We  owe  him  our  fortune,"  said  Cope. 

"  We  owe  everything  every  day  to  somebody, 
nevertheless,  I  shall  write  a  poem  to  his  memory." 

"  A  sufficient  honor  to  have  tumbled  into  a  mercu- 
rial pond  for !"  said  Cope  ironically. 

"  What  a  fantastic  dream  life  is  !"  sighed  Mondel. 
"  !N"ow  all  these  strange  adventures,  this  voyage,  this 
motley  crew,  our  novel  companionship  as  modern 
Jasons  in  search  of  the  golden  fleece,  and  means  of 
fleecing  our  fellows,  to  me  appears  spectral  and 
unreal.  There  is  but  one  real  thing  for  the  soul  in 
ISTature,  its  master  passion,  its  dominating  thought !" 

"In  a  word,"  said  Coj^e — "  Columbia !" 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  the  pale  leader  of  the  gold- 
seekers,  "  Columbia  or  death  !" 

"Incurable!"  sighed  Cope;  "and  before  he  gets 
back  to  ISlew  York,  she  will  have  been  married  to 
some  highly  resj)ectable  merchant." 

"Work,  work,  messengers  of  the  gods!"  mur- 
mured the  poet,  still  looking  down  upon  his  engine, 
fancifully  apostrophizing  his  metallic  slave,  whose 
resistless  expansive  force,  gave  way  to  the  iron  giant 
below.  "  Work,  work,  and  bear  your  master  to  the 
Mecca  of  his  pilgrimage  !  let  him  once  more  kiss  the 
black  stone  of  scorn's  Caaba,  and  then  farewell  to 
dreams  of  empire,  glory,  creation !  Farewell  to 
Dride  and  passion,  to  science  and  to  art,  to  illusion 


THE   VOYAGE   TO   THE   GOLDEN   ISLAND.  395 

and  to  torment !  At  the  worst,  even  mj  enemies 
cannot  deny  that  I  have  lived  and  died — a  man!" 

"  Sail  ho !"  cried  the  look-out  at  the  mast  head. 

But  night  descended,  and  with  the  morning  the 
stranger  had  disappeared  from  the  circle,  and  sea 
and  air  met  unbroken  round  the  Columbia. 


396  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMJP. 


CHAPTER  XXYin. 

MUTmT. 

"  There  was  some  foul  play  !"  said  David  Boract. 

"  He  was  the  first  discoverer  of  the  island,  remem- 
ber," said  Hans  Eodde,  "  and  it  was  the  Captain's 
interest  to  get  rid  of  him," 

"  He  fell  very  suddenly !"  said  Ben  Grizzle. 

"  Verv,"  said  another  of  the  malcontents. 

"  Wlio  is  there  ?"  said  Borack. 

"  I," — said  the  voice  of  the  third  mate. 

It  was  a  dark  night,  and  the  mutineers  had  assem- 
bled near  the  head  of  the  vessel. 

Their  plan  was  long  since  matm-ed.  It  was  to 
wait  until  the  third  mate  was  officer  of  the  watch, 
seize  him,  and  then  surprise  the  captain  in  his  state 
cabin. 

Their  first  object  was  easily  accomplished,  and 
Edward  "Wallace  was  secured  and  gagged  before  he 
could  give  the  alarm.  The  further  execution  of 
David  Borack's  project  to  get  possession  of  the  ship 
and  all  its  treasure,  would  have  been  equally  certain, 


MUTEST.  397 

■had  not  the  demon  of  restlessness  which  possessed 
the  soul  of  Mondel,  caused  him  by  mere  accident  to 
ascend,  in  his  slippers  and  a  loose  wrapper,  the  gang- 
way of  the  chief  cabin,  at  the  very  moment  of  the 
seizure  of  his  third  officer  by  the  mutineers.  Ben 
Grizzle,  who  was  mounting  guard  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs,  lucidly  happened  to  turn  his  head  for  an 
instant,  to  see  the  result  of  the  struggle.  Tliis 
inadvertency  enabled  Mondel  to  draw  back  quietly, 
return  to  his  state  room,  seize  his  sword  and  revol- 
ver, awaken  Cope,  and  return  to  the  stairs,  just  in 
time  to  pass  his  straight  military  sword  through  the 
body  of  David  Borack  as,  armed  with  an  axe  and  a 
double-barrelled  pistol,  he  led  the  van  of  the  descend- 
ing mutineers. 

Borack  uttered  a  yell  of  agony,  and  threw  himself 
upon  Mondel,  who,  overwhelmed  by  the  weight  of 
the  giant,  staggered  back.  ' 

Borack  fired  his  pistol  without  efiect,  and  then 
aimed  a  blow  at  Mondel  with  the  axe,  which  fortun- 
ately struck  only  the  frame  work  of  the  cabin  door. 

Mondel  fired,  and  Borack  fell  mortally  wounded, 
Ben  Grizzle,  who  followed,  received  the  Captain's 
sword  in  his  heart,  and  fell  instantly.  But  Hans 
Rodde  who  next  followed,  struck  Mondel  on  his 
uncovered  head  with  a  hand  spike  so  violently,  that 
although  he  partially  guarded  the  blow  with  his 


398  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE  LAMP. 

sword,  he  fell  stunned  witli  the  blow  and  would  have 
been  dis23atched  at  once  by  the  young  Dutchman's 
knife,  but  for  the  sudden  diversion  caused  by  some 
scene  upon  deck,  which  caused  the  other  mutineers  to 
re-ascend  the  staircase  with  much  greater  eagerness 
than  they  had  evinced  in  their  descent. 

Hans  Eodde's  attention  was  diverted  for  an  in- 
stant, and  by  the  time  he  again  turned  to  Mondel,  he 
received  a  ball  from  Cope's  revolver  in  the  shoulder, 
which  disabled  him — a  second  barrel  of  the  revolver 
fired  by  the  same  steady  hand,  sent  the  soul  of  Hans 
Rodde  to  the  gulf  of  mysteries. 

Meanwhile,  the  Professor  and  the  first  mate  hav- 
ing by  some  means,  reached  the  deck,  maintained  an 
unequal  contest  with  the  remaining  mutineers,  till 
Cope  and  Mondel,  who  rose  almost  immediately,  his 
broken  sword  still  grasped  firmly  in  his  hand,  appear- 
ing in  the  scene,  the  bloody  drama  ended  by  the 
unconditional  submission  of  the  three  surviving  muti- 
neers and  the  commission  to  the  deep  of  the  corpses 
of  David  Borack,  Hans  Bodde,  and  their  companions. 
As  for  the  second  mate,  Eichard  Grote,  he  had  been 
brained  by  the  Professor  with  a  marling  spike,  and 
was  found  near  the  windlass,  still  gasping,  though 
past  all  hope  of  recovery.     He  too  was  thrown  over- 
board in  the  fierce   excitement  of   the  hour,   and 
Mondel  found  himself  once  more  undisputed  master 


MUTiisrY.  399 

of  a  vessel  full  of  gold,  but  deficient  in  men,  water, 
and,  in  the  event  of  a  protracted  voyage,  or  any 
accident  to  the  engines,  of  the  most  necessary 
provisions. 

At  this  time  the  clouds  cleared  away  from  the 
heavens,  and  the  rays  of  the  moon  fell  on  the  pale 
stern  brow  of  their  chief,  as  with  his  bloody  sword 
still  in  his  hands,  he  briefly  thanked  his  friends  for 
the  energy  displayed  in  the  late  desperate  and 
unhappy  emergency. 

Scarcely  had  he  uttered  a  few  words  on  the  neces- 
sity for  unparalleled  exertion  on  the  part  of  all 
remaining  on  board,  when  the  boom  of  a  gun  broke 
the  silence  of  the  night,  and  a  rakish  looking  brig 
was  seen  bearing  down  under  full  sail  upon  the 
Columbia. 

Mondel  hastened  to  the  engine-room.  Cope  took 
the  wheel.  The  assistant  engineer  was  dead,  and 
Mondel  had  to  rouse  the  engineer  himself  from  a 
deep  slumber,  which  not  even  the  firing  of  the 
pistols  had  interrupted.  Perhaps,  living  in  the  per- 
petual noise  and  jar  of  the  machinery,  he  was  less 
susceptible  in  his  acoustic  sensibilities,  than  is  usual. 
The  mate  looked  through  his  glass  at  the  suspicious 
stranger. 

"It  is  a  pirate — by  G ,  a  pirate!"  said  he, 

seizing  his  speaking  tnimpet — "  Sir, — Mr.  Mondel !  a 


400  THE   SLATE   OF  THE   LAJSIP. 

pirate.  He  lioists  the  black  flag  and  makes  sure  of 
us." 

"  Probably  be  mistakes  us  for  a  vessel  in  distress," 
said  Mondel,  reascending,  "  Now  for  my  air-guns, 
now  is  the  time  to  test  tbeir  efficjlcy  !  At  tbe  worst 
we  can  outstrip  them,  as  soon  as  the  engine  is  in  full 
play,  meanwhile  to  the  work  !" 

"  Rivers !"  he  resumed,  "  bring  up  the  the  canis- 
ters !  you  understand  me !" 

The  Professor  descended,  and  returned  almost 
immediately  with  two  cylinders  of  iron,  with 
which  Mondel  immediately  proceeded  to  load  his 
stern-chasers.  A  few  turns  of  their  powerful  screws, 
and  the  air  was  compressed  which  was  to  expe- 
dite the  deadly  explosive.  Each  cylinder  had  a 
spike  at  its  end,  and  contained  materials  of  such 
destructive  character,  that  any  vessel  struck  by 
one  of  them,  was  certain  to  be  seriously  damaged 
if  not  utterly  destroyed.  The  jjreparation  of  these 
terrible  explosives,  in  a  safely  portable  form,  was 
a  recent  discovery,  of  which  Mondel  had,  with 
his  usual  love  of  progress  in  all  things,  taken 
care  to  avail  himself 

The  first  canister  was  projected  without  effect, 
and  perhaps  still  sleeps  harmlessly  at  the  bottom 
of  the  ocean.  The  second  produced  an  effect  for 
which   even  Mondel  was   unprepared.    There  was 


jsniTiNY.  401 

a  quick  liirid  flash,  a  sound,  a  dispersion  of  frag- 
ments, and  witliin  tliree  minutes  tlie  pirate  vessel 
had  disappeared ! 

All  strained  their  eyes  incredulously  towards 
the  vacant  space.  Yet,  so  it  was,  the  fatal  missile 
had  struck  the  pirate  right  abeam,  between  wind 
and  water,  exploded,  and  in  so  doing,  tore  up 
the  deck,  and  opened  a  vast  rent  in  the  side  of 
the  vessel,  which,  admitting  the  sea,  caused  her 
to  sink  almost  instantaneously. 

"Trulv  the  Columbia  bears  a  charmed  life!" 
said  Mondel. 

"  Truly,  her  Captain  leads  a  charmed  life !"  said 
Cope,  who,  like  all  philosophers,  was  capable  of 
joking  under  the  most  exciting  circumstances. 

But  the  gods  of  ocean,  were  not  yet  weary,  nor 
was  the  ship  Columbia  ever  destined  to  see  port, 
or  discharge  cargo  again  in  this  world. 

****** 

Three  weeks  later,  the  Panama  and  San  Fran- 
cisco steamer  picked  up  a  boat  containing  three 
gaunt,  hollow-eyed,  and  hungry  men,  almost  starved, 
perishing  with  thirst,  and  yet  bearing  a  brave  and 
undaunted  aspect,  in  their  last  and  most  desperate 
extremity. 

These  men  were,  the  commander  of  the  Colum- 


402  THE   SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

bia — Dudley  Mondel,  Peregrine  Cope,  and  tliat 
remarkable  ex-housebreaker,  who  we  have  so  long 
alluded  to  as  the  Professor;  tliey,  and  they  j^lone, 
survived. 

But  though  they  had  seen  the  ship  of  gold  go 
down  before  their  eyes,  they  were  still  the  envied 
possessors  of  certain  lumps  of  that  eternal  "  incentive 
to  vice "  and  "  indispensable  requisite  to  happi- 
ness"— the  yellow  talisman — tied  np  in  canvass 
covers,  and  thrown  at  the  bottom  of  the  boat, 
as  ballast,  to  the  extent  of  at  least  one  million 
of  dollars  in  value ! 

And  let  it  be  pnt  down  to  the  credit  of  Mon- 
del, Cope,  and  their  faithful  followers,  that  starved 
and  parched  as  they  were,  they  were  still  too 
deeply  convinced  of  the  superiority  of  the  moral 
torture  of  poverty,  over  the  physical  agony  of 
privation,  to  either  ask  for  bread  or  water,  till 
their  hard-won  treasure  had  been  deposited,  by 
the  captain  of  the  steamer's  orders,  in  a  place  of 
security. 

"Who  are  you,  gentlemen?"  said  he  of  the 
steamer,  impressed,  notwithstanding  his  deplorable 
condition  as  to  clothing,  by  the  stately  manner 
of  Mondel,  as  he  stood,  surrounded  by  the  curious 
passengers,  on  the  quarterdeck. 

"  I    am    Dudley    Mondel,   lord    of    the    golden 


itUTINY.  403 

island,"  said  the    late    captain    of    tlie   Columbia, 
with  a  faint  smile. 

Four  days  later,  our  adventurers  found  them- 
selves luxuriating  at  the  best  hotel  in  San  Fran- 
cisco. 


404  TUE   SLA-^^E   OF  THE  LAMP. 


CHAPTEE  XXIX. 

BERKELEY   MAEEIED. 

Theee  is  no  more  curious  or  painful  drama  acted 
on  tlie  world's  stage  than  one-sided  love. 

To  tlie  laughing  devils  of  tlie  soured  and  skeptical 
school,  the  sight  of  a  man  desperately  bent  on  self- 
delusion  as  to  a  woman's  feelings  towards  himself,  is 
full  of  the  comic  element,  and  the  observation  of  a 
woman  under  a  similar  hallucination  respecting  a 
man,  supremely  amusing. 

To  the  profound  thinker  there  is  nothing  more 
tragic. 

How  often,  and  under  how  many  varied  conditions, 
have  I  studied  this  melancholy  phase  in  the  grand 
comedy  of  life ! 

John  Berkeley  had,  we  have  seen,  persuaded  Mrs. 
Tonkers  to  elope  with  him.  He  had  attained  pos- 
session of  the  great  obj-ect  of  his  desires ;  he  had 
realized  a  felicity,  which  to  him  had  been  the  one 
green  oasis  of  hope  in  a  desert  of  crime  and  suf- 
fering. 


BERKELEY   MARKIED.  405 

How  brief  was  his  delusion  !  He  had,  it  is  tnie, 
obtained  possession  of  Amelia—that  is,  the  outward 
and  visible  Amelia,  with  all  her  beauty  of  form,  her 
dark  lustrous  hair,  and  large  soul-subduing  eyes. 
But  of  the  real  Amelia— the  Trvevna,  the  animating 
principle  of  that  charming  form — he  possessed  no 
more  than  the  great  Khan  of  Tartary,  or  the 
Ethiopian  Highpriest  of  Mumbo-Jumbo  in  the  lands 
beyond  the  Koran's  range,  near  to  the  Mountains  of 
the  Moon. 

Amelia  had  in  fact  eloped  with  Berkeley,  because 
she  was  desperate.  She  had  loved  Mondel  with  all 
the  fiery  passionate  sensualism  of  her  nature.  His 
indifference  had  outraged  her  vanity,  wounded  her 
pride,  and  left  behind  it  a  sense  of  incurable  dissatis- 
faction. But  for  Columbia,  she  felt,  things  would 
have  happened  very  differently.  She,  Amelia,  would 
have  been  the  heroine  of  a  deliciously  romantic 
intrigue,  living  in  a  perpetual  state  of  interesting  and 
exciting  relations  with  a  man  who  possessed  the 
faculty  of  perpetually  amusing,  puzzling,  and  pleas- 
ing her.  She  could  not  understand  Mondel,  it  is 
true,  but  the  very  mystery  which  hung  round  his 
vast  powers  and  acquirements,  and  strange,  daring, 
indefinite  aims,  made  him  irresistibly  fascinating  to 
her  imagination.  Before  slie  saw  him,  her  step- 
daughter Columbia  affected  her  with  a  presentiment 


406  THE   SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

of  the  coming  influence.  Both  had  the  same  pale 
transparent  spiritual  complexion,  the  same  fathomless 
look  of  infinite  thought,  the  same  silky  hair  and 
unstudied  grace  of  movement,  even  in  moments  of 
embarrassment.  Both  had  that  peculiar  wildness 
and  impulsive  forcible  tone,  manner,  gesture  and 
look,  which  is  the  certain  sign  of  genius.  Both  had, 
in  a  word,  precisely  what  she  had  oiot — that  regal  air 
of  self-reliance,  which  inspired  our  great  ancestral 
God  of  war  Odin,  in  the  old  Norse  ballad. 

"  I  am  a  king,''''  said  he,  I 

"  My  empire  is  the  sea, 

My  throne  yon  ship  that  rides 

At  anchor  in  the  haven; 

Above  whose  topmost  mast, 

Fit  comrade  of  the  blast, 

My  regal  standard  floats, — 

The  yet  unconquered  raven." 

The  hero  has  returned  from  a  prolonged  cruise  in 
his  Yiking-galley ;  and  thus  answers  the  insolent 
demand  of  Lok  as  to  his  rank  and  ancestry.* 

But  it  was  as  impossible  for  Amelia  and  Columbia 
to  be  true  friends,  as  for  Amelia  and  Mondel  really 
to  harmonize  in  love. 

*  The  production  on  the  stage  of  the  present  writer's  unpublished  ^oem  or 
drama  of  "  Odin,"  has  been  delayed  by  the  difficulties  inherent  in  the  piece 
itself,  which  requires  a  large  stage  and  expensive  accessories :  also  by  the 
unremitting  engagement  of  the  author  in  other  literary  occupations. 


BEKKELEY   MAREIED.  407 

Eao'les  cannot  mate  witli  lierons.  The  bird  of 
Jove,  whose  "  home  is  heaven's  light,'"  soars  habitu- 
ally in  regions  unattainable  to  inferior  birds.  Thus, 
too,  genius,  in  its  constant  exaltation  of  idea,  leaves 
the  petty  prejudice  and  narrow  sympathies  of  ordi- 
nary society  so  far  beneath  its  spiritual  feet,  that 
it  becomes  undistinguishable,  from  distance,  to  the 
vulgar;  yet,  just  as  the  dark  speck  upon  the  sky 
excites  our  interest,  because  we  know  it  to  le  an 
eagle,  so  genius,  even  when  incomprehensible  to 
ordinary  mortals,  is  still  genius — the  revelation  of 
ideal  knowledge  and  beauty  to  mankind. 

"With  regard  to  Berkeley,  Mrs.  Yonkers  neither 
liked  nor  disliked  him,  though  flattered  by  the  love 
of  a  man  who  in  many  respects  was  a  desirable 
conquest.  He  was  young,  and,  in  his  peculiar  style, 
handsome,  accomplished  as  a  man  of  the  world,  and 
now  reported  rich.  He  had  force,  vivacity,  and 
energy  in  his  character,  but  no  poetry,  no  romance, 
no  charming  playfulness  of  manner.  There  was 
always  something  cynical,  reserved,  indiflerent  in 
his  look.  Even  in  his  love  he  was  earnest  and 
impassioned,  without  being  gentle  or  pleasing.  There 
was  devotion,  but  no  tenderness  in  his  nature. 

Nevertheless,  Mi*s;  Yonkers  became  his  mistress; 
and,  by  the  ceremony  of  marriage,  his  wife,  upon 
the  death  of  Mr.  Yonkers. 


408  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE  LAMP. 

His  life  was  a  purgatory  of  alternate  hope,  despair, 
and  savage  jealousy. 

Amelia  trifled  witli  the  stern  and  implacable 
Berkeley,  as  might  an  oriental  despot  with  a  chained 
tiger. 

Berkeley  raged,  yet ,  loved.  The  coldness  with 
which  his  burning  passion,  the  pent-up  torrent  of 
a  whole  life's  abnegation,  was  received,  only  served 
to  increase  the  value  of  its  indulgence.  He  wor- 
shipped the  indifierent  Amelia,  as  an  Indian  worships 
his  three-headed  god.  His  whole  life  was  passed 
in  asking  himself  this  one  question,  "  Does  she  love 
me  or  does  she  not?"  "Will  she  or  can  she  love 
me  ?  was  a  still  more  sombre  form  of  putting  the 
•same  all-important  query. 

As  for  Amelia,  though  she  could  not  command 
<ihe  weather-like  variations  of  her  temper,  she 
wished  to  make  the  best  of  her  lot,  and  enjoy 
life  to  the  utmost;  so,  after  asking  herself  the  above 
question,  and  arriving  much  more  readily  at  an 
answer,  she  concluded  that  she  could  quite  well 
endure  to  be  loved  by  her  husband,  and  forthwith 
began  to  think  of  all  other  possible  distractions. 
Her  extravagance  knew  no  limits ;  and  when  she 
returned  to  ISTew  York,  the  unbounded  profusion 
of  her  outlay  called  round  her  a  sort  of  para- 
sitical circle  of  people,  quite  as  well  bred,  indeed 


BEKKELET    MAERIED.  409 

much  more  instructive  and  amusing,  than  lier 
old  humdrum  commercial  circle.  Her  drawing-room, 
indeed,  became  the  rendezvous  of  the  most  remark- 
ble  foreign  adventurers  ;  Cuban  patriots,  Irish  fortune 
hunters — counts,  French,  Italian  or  Polish,  who 
had  counted  their  chances  in  the  Old  world,  and 
made  themselves  counts,  expressly  to  get  an 
additional  chance  in  the  JSTew.  There  too,  were 
to  be  seen  seventh-rate  literati,  and  men  who  were 
lions  because  they  had  discovered  sciences  which 
did  not  exist.  Also  were  seen  spiritual  mediums, 
and  kings  of  France,  of  Indian  origin,  and  many 
nice  young  men  who  danced  there,  and  did  heaven 
knows  what  elsewhere,  and  looked  very  much  as  if 
they  had  all  been  dressed  by  contract,  by  the  same 
tailor,  and  let  out  for  the  night  as  stop-gaps  and 
fill-corners. 

Tlie  species  of  infatuation — the  infatuation  of 
the  senses — of  which  Berkeley  was  the  victim,  is 
radically  incurable,  except  by  death,  or  a  higher 
form  of  passion.  The  miserable  counterfeiter 
indulged  every  whim  of  his  syren,  accepting  every 
humiliation  and  neglect  on  her  part,  little  more 
than  a  husband  in  name,  since  the  ever-ready 
pica  of  illness  was  always  at  hand  to  exclude 
him  from  his  wife's  apartments,  or  convert  him 
from  a  lover  into  a  nurse.     All  this  he   bore,   and 

18 


410  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP 

to  gratify  his  ■ungrateful  wife,  lavished  upo?  ho? 
his  ill-gotten  fortune  with  recklessness,  which  soon 
brought  him  to  the  alternative  of  immediate  anc? 
positive  retrenchment,  or  a  fresh  plunge  into  the 
hazardous  career  which  for  nearly  two  years,  hc- 
had  entirely  and  delightedly  abandoned. 

Amelia  received  the  news  of  their  impoverish- 
m.ent  with  amazement  and  scorn.  Why  did  he 
remain  idle,  why  did  he  not  speculate?  do  some- 
thing? make  money  like  other  people,  as  he  had 
done  formerly  ? 

Then  this  luxurious  Phryne,  putting  on  an 
affectionate  air,  and  lavishing  on  Berkeley  a  few 
careless  caresses,  which  as  usual  he  accepted,  as 
the  dog  accepts  the  crumbs  from  the  rich  man's 
table,  entreated  her  husband  not  to  make  her 
miserable  by  talking  to  her  of  poverty,  and  misery, 
and  all  sorts  of  disagreeable  things.  She  wondered 
he  did  not  suggest  a  boarding-house  at  once,  or 
emigrate  to  Minnesota. 

Berkeley  left  Amelia  in  a  state  of  terrible  agitation. 
Finally  he  resolved  to  make — literally  to  make — 
money  to  supply  all  demands  for  the  present. 

Amelia  was  delighted  to  hear  no  moi-e  talk  of 
economy,  and  all  went  on  as  usual,  till  one  evening 
Berkeley,  who  still  secretly  retained  his  old  house, 
though  he  occupied  one  in  Fourteenth  street  with 


BEEKELEY   MAKRIED.  411 

• 

Amelia,  and  was  about  to  devote  tlie  niglit  to  Iiis 
infernal  manufactare,  Berkeley,  I  repeat,  told  liis 
wife  that  he  had  to  call  upon. a  friend  at  some  dis- 
tance from  the  city,  and  should  not  return  till  the 
next  day. 

It  so  happened  however  that  a  couple  of  hours 
afterwards  he  did  return,  for  his  pocket-book,  which 
contained  the  very  notes  he  was  about  to  transfer 
and  reproduce. 

As  he  entered  by  means  of  a  latch-key,  he  over- 
heard Amelia  in  the  drawing-room  say  these 
ominous  words  in  a  tone  which  few  jealous  husbands 
are  slow  to  recognize — 

"  Do  not  run  away,  my  dear  Count — Mr.  Berkeley 
is  out  of  town.  He  will  not  return  till  to-morrow. 
I  am  so  glad  you  called." 

Berkeley  remained  motionless  on  the  doormat. 
He  was  naturally  noiseless  in  his  movements.  He 
unlocked  a  street  door  as  no  other  man  unlocked  it. 
Tlie  next  five  minutes  satisfied  him.  He  advanced 
to  the  door  just  ajar,  and  thi-ough  the  crack  of  the 
hinge  (that  terrible  crack)  !  he  saw  his  adored 
Amelia  pillowing  her  soft  cheek  on  the  shoulder  of  a 
particularly  handsome  and  black-bearded  Frenchman, 
the  Count  Alfred  de  Clichy  in  fact — otherwise  Alfred 
Clicky  ex-cashier  of  Tripier's  bank  at  Paris,  political, 
alias  felonious,  exile  at  ^New  York. 


H 


412  THE  SLAVE   OF   THE    LAlVEP. 

]Srow  Jolin  Berkeley,  who  knew  a  great  many 
•things  which  his  wife  did  not  know,  knew  the 
fascinating  Count  Alfred  de  Clichy,  in  vernacular 
parlance,  like  a  book.  So,  without  more  ado,  he 
walked  into  the  room,  giving  the  lovers  just  time  to 
assume  a  suitable  innocence  of  attitude  and  aspect. 

"  Ah,  my  dear,  I  am  returned  you  see  sooner  than 
I  said,"  began  the  Alterer  with  a  feigned  carelessness 
which  did  not  altogether  deceive  Amelia.  Not 
however  suspecting  that  he  had  actually  seen  or 
heard  anything,  she  said  in  her  usual  tone — 

"  John,  here  is  the  Count." 

Amelia  liked  Counts.  It  is  an  amiable  weakness 
in  some  American  ladies.  She  liked  Lords  too,  and 
titles  of  all  descriptions,  both  of  home  and  foreign 
manufacture.  Perhaps,  the  novelty  of  the  latter, 
made  them  more  attractive. 

"  Count  ?  what  Count  ?"  said  Berkeley,  looking 
with  an  insulting  coolness  of  contempt  at  Clichy. 

"Why,  the  Count  de  Clichy,  my  dear,  of  course," 
said  Amelia,  flushing  crimson. 

"Where  is  he?  I  see  no  Count  de  Clichy,"  said 
Berkeley,  still  annihilating  the  fascinating  Alfred, 
with  the  look  of  a  basilisk. 

"  Mais,  Monsieur," — began  M.  Clichy,  rising  and 
trying  to  give  an  air  of  spirit  and  dignity,  to  his 
large  and  somewhat  portly  figure. 


^9 


BERKELEY    M.UiEIED.  413 

"Don't  tiy  to  impose  on  we/"  tlinndered  Berkeley, 
all  at  once  breaking  out,  and  turning  absolutely  livid 
•with  fury.  "  Do  you  think  I  want  my  house  to  be  a 
rendezvous  for  every  French  pickpocket  and  black- 
guard, that  likes  to  stick  Count  and  de  before  his 
name?  Zknow  you,  Monsieur  Clichy;  /  recollect 
you  at  Paris  years  ago,  as  gar^on  at  a  cafe  in  the 
Rue  Yivienne  (this  invention,  for  it  was  an  invention 
of  Berkeley's,  told  fearfully  on  the  nerves  of  Mrs.  B.), 
from  which  you  were  turned  away  for  stealing  the 
spoons  !  Out  of  my  house,  rascal !  and  never  let  me 
catch  you  here  again !" — howled,  rather  than  spoke, 
the  Alterer,  as  he  rather  carried  than  dragged  the 
unfortunate  "Count"  to  the  street-door,  and  fairly 
kicked  him  into  the  kennel. 

"Madame,"  said  Berkeley,  when  (after  adminis- 
tering a  few  supplementary  kicks  to  the  prostrate 
Alfred)  he  returned,  still  ghastly  pale,  "  I  have  long 
suspected  you,  I  now  know  and  despise  you." 

"  John,  I  am  innocent,  indeed  I  am,"  said  Amelia, 
not  sobbing,  but  very  much  frightened  at  her  hus- 
band's violence,  and  very  much  humiliated  at  his 
treatment  of  the  supposed  Count. 

"Madame,"  said  Berkeley,  with  a  look  of  very 
cold  contempt.  "  I  have-  the  honor  to  wish  you  a 
very  good  evening."     Mrs.  Berkeley  sat  stupefied 


414  THE  SLAVE   OF  THE  LAMP. 

witli  consternation.  Bjtlie  time  she  rercovered  the 
use  of  her  faculties,  her  husband  was  gone. 

Early  on  the  following  morning,  there  was  a  fire 
up  town.  It  was  the  old  house  of  the  counter- 
feiter. Berkeley  had  made  his  last  ten  thousand 
dollars,  and  quitted  ISTew  York  for  ever. 

In.  the  course  of  the  following  day,  the  officer 
of  justice  came  to  the  house  in  Fourteenth  Street, 
to  arrest  Berkeley  as  a  forger,  and  his  wife  as 
his  accomplice.     They  found  only  the  latter. 

It  was  from  the  Tonibs  that  Columbia  received 
the  first  communication  she  had  had  from  her  step- 
mother, since  the  elopement. 

In  her  despair,  at  the  unexpected  horrors  of 
her  position,  the  wi*etched  lady  could  think  of 
no  one  to  apply  to  for  aid,  but  the  noble-hearted 
and  generous  Columbia.  In  return  for  her  sym- 
pathy, and  assistance,  she  offered  to  explain  the 
whole  mystery  of  her  conduct,  with  respect  to  Mon- 
del.  Thus  were  the  statements  of  the  unfortunate 
lover  confirmed,  and  his  conduct  justified.  But 
where  was  he,  this  tried  and  acquitted  criminal 
of  love  ?  Answer  ye  waves,  ye  tempests,  isles  of 
metallic  horrors,  knife  of  mutineer,  and  ball  of 
pirate;  answer  ye  fevers,  and  physicians  of  the 
golden  land,  where  is  he  ?  where  is  Mondel  ? 


BEEKELEY'  MAKEIED,  415 

Wtere  is  the  poet-adventurer,  the  eternal  lover  of 
Columbia,  the  fair,  the  imperial  ? 

Two  years  have  passed  away,  and  no  news  of 
Mondel.  His  fame  as  a  writer  is  beginning  to 
recede  into  the  past,  his  character  as  a  man  is 
over-clouded  with  dark  shadows.  Yaguely  the 
words  adventurer  and  pirate  are  mingled.  Sad- 
dest of  all,  rumors  of  wrecks,  and  every  rational 
conjecture,  hint  at  one  only  possible  solution. 
Dudley  Mondel  is  dead.  Columbia  has  opened 
her  eyes  too  late.  Thenceforward,  her  heart  is  a 
mausoleum,  not  a  temple,  and  her  brow  grows  paler 
and  her  cheeks  grow  thinner,  and  her  fingers  whiter, 
and  her  eyes  more  spiritually  beautiful,  as  she 
murmurs — 

"  Death,  what  is  death  ?  Oh !  let  me  too  die, 
and  be  at  rest !" 

Kest ! — vain  demand — there  is  no  rest  for  spirits, 
even  in  eternity.  There  is  no  rest — but  there  is 
happiness  somewhere,  or  NaturQ  were  Jierself  a  lio 
and  a  delusion. 


416  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

THE     FAIE     SLAVE     OF     THE     LAMP. 

For  two  long  dismal  years,  Columbia  had  toiled, 
and  wept,  and  hoped,  and  dreamed,  and  despaired, 
in  solitude  and  poverty. 

Pride,  noble  j)ride,  and  that  mysterious  intuition 
of  the  soul,  which  divines,  without  comprehending, 
the  unknown,  and  the  unborn  event,  sustained 
her  in  her  arduous  struggle. 

ISTor  did  Mrs.  ISTormer's  kind  and  cheerful  conso- 
lations fail  to  have  their  effect  on  the  sensitive 
feelings,  hojvever,  little  they  really  biased  the  inde- 
pendent judgment  of  Columbia. 

Mrs.  JSTormer  would  not  hear  of  any  accident 
to  Mondel.  He  would  most  certainly  return,  and 
return  a  rich  and  successful  man.  Had  he  not 
said  to  her  at  parting,  that  he  should  come  back 
a  millionaire?  Why  did  he  not  write? — "What 
was  the  use  in  writing?  He  was  never  a  man  of 
letters,  in  the  corresponding  sense.  Once,  he  was 
absent  for  six  months  before,  and  never  wrote  to 


i 


THE  FAIR   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP.  417 

any  one,  as  slie,  Mrs.  iNormer  knew,  for  she  inquired 
of  all  his  friends,  and'  none  of  them  had  heard 
of  him. 

Meanwhile,  Columbia  wrote  tale  after  tale,  and 
sent  them  to  the  magazines,  and  was  kept  waiting 
and  neglected,  and  refused,  and  her  manuscripts 
lost,  and  her  patience  sorely  tried  in  every  possi- 
ble way.  It  is  true,  some  of  her  pieces  were 
admired,  and  quoted,  and  reprinted,  but  all  this 
produced  no  personal  advantage  to  the  authoress, 
and  Columbia,  who  could  not  see  a  beggar,  or 
listen  to  a  tale  of  distress,  without  opening  her 
purse  to  the  suifercr,  found  herself  constantly  poor, 
and  behind-hand,  and  anxious.  Her  dresses  began 
to  wear  out,  and  were  not  replaced.  She  began 
to  taste  that  refined  misery,  which  Mondel  had  so 
gi'aphically  described,  those  exquisitely  petty  morti- 
fications, which  corrode  and  embitter  the  hearts 
of  the  delicate  and  refined  children  of  misfortune. 

The  world  became  repulsive  as  well  as  gloomy  to 
her  imagination.  Day  by  day,  she  became  more 
fond  of  solitude,  more  abstracted  in  her  manner, 
more  indijfferent  to  appearances.  Like  a  beautiful 
ghost,  she  glided  along  the  main  streets  of  the  city, 
her  eyes  fixed  ujjon  invisible  phantasms,  her  lovely 
countenance  pale  and  sad  as  a  nun's,  her  brows 
slightly  contracted  with  that  expression  of  nervous 

18* 


418  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 

endurance  so  peculiarly  indicative  of  profound  men- 
tal anguish,  her  fingers  drawn  together  with  ner- 
vous tension,  the  very  image  of  a  beautiful  Sibyl, 
an  enchanted  princess,  a  creature  of  another  world 
wildly  wandering  through  the  horrors  of  an  earthly 
Inferno ! 

Oh,  ye  cold-blooded  men  of  rank  and  office,  gold 
and  commerce !  how  willingly  would  I  forgive  you 
for  all  the  assassinations  which  your  heartless  indif- 
ference to  the  Great  and  the  God-like,  has  committed 
on  the  unhappy  knights  of  intellect  and  companions 
of  the  great  order  of  Light!  After  all,  they  were 
Tnen^  and  fell  fighting  for  the  cause  of  truth,  and 
love,  and  beauty — fell  bravely,  as  fell  the  Titans  of 
old,  crushed  by  the  bolts  of  Fate,  and  the  omnipotent 
arm  of  Jove.  Even  now  I  see  them — the  gaunt  and 
ill-paid  soldiers  of  the  great  living  army  of  martyrs, 
and  it  rejoices  me  to  hear  the  low,  muttered  ^defiance 
of  all  comers,  and  their  eternal  watchword  "  Yictorv 
or  death ! — and  even  in  death — Yictory  !" 

But  for    the  sufferings    of    the  fair    and    noble  J 

daughters  of  genius,  I  do  not  forgive  you.  It  is  for 
this  that  I  not  only  hate  yOur  meanness,  but  abhor 
your  very  existence.  It  is  for  this  that  I  curse  your 
civilization,  your  policies,  your  institutions,  your 
spasmodic  enterprise  ! — You  men  ? — races  of  cowards 
and  pedlars !    You  who  on  all  sides  and  every  possi- 


THE   FAIR   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP.  419 

ble  way  see  women  suffer,  and  are  calm,  contented, 
easy  in  your  iniqnities. 

Once  more,  the  vice  of  this  age  is  meanness. 
Look  to  it  England,  land  of  selfish  aristocracy  and 
servile  shopkeepers !  look  to  it  America,  land  of 
greedy  speculators  and  corrupt  politicians !  look  to 
it  France,  land  of  police  spies  and  slaves !  The 
angels  looks  down  from  the  heavens  and  weep  at 
your  meanness,  the  demons  laugh  below  at  the  age 
of  traffic  and  progress  ! 

To  the  devil  with  your  progress  !  if  the  many  are 
still  to  agonize  for  the  benefit  of  the  few !  if  young 
and  lovely  women  are  still  to  be  driven  by  your 
society  to  starvation  or  the  streets.  Learn  this 
great  fact.  All  your  philanthropy  up  to  this  present 
moment  has  been  a  pitiful  humbug.  My  worthy, 
wealthy  Pharisees!  you  have  hitherto  tried  to  do 
good  at  too  cJieap  a  rate,  to  give  an  i7nmense  deal 
and  sacrifice  nothing  1 

Besides,  your  system  is  in  itself  demoniacal.  You 
wait  for  extreme  cases,  you  are  so  grossly  material 
that  you  can  think  only  of  the  sufferings  of  the 
body.  For  the  tortures  of  the  soul  you  have  no  pity. 
You  are  overwhelmed  with  applications ! — What  a 
sad  infiliction!  when  in  fact  you  ought  to  invite 
them  and  rejoice  in  the  opportunity  of  doing  good. 

But  what  would  you  have  us  da?  you  say,  perhaps. 


420  THE   SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

Wait  a  Kttle,  and  I  will  tell  you. 

Meanwhile,  give !  But  you  want  to  sam.  O, 
generation  of  savers !  there  was  one  who  of  old 
gained  the  name  of  8a/oiour  and  whom  the  like  of 
you  crucified,  but  he  sa/ved  men — not  dollars. 

And  what  do  you  save  after  all  ? 

A  capital  which  is  a  fiction,  a  lie,  a  forgery  with 
.which  to  pay,  that  is,  enslave,  future  labor.  Is  tlie 
world  richer  by  a  cent  for  a  dollar  saved  by  an 
individual  ? 

Imagine  the  -Gods  paving.  And  do  you  not  boast 
that  you  were  made  in  a  God's  image  ?  Tradition- 
ally ye  were,  but  it  was  a  Hebrew  God's.  He  knew 
the  avarice  of  man,  and  directed  that  every  fifty 
years  the  work  of  vicious  accumulation  should  be 
annihilated  for  the  general  good,  and  all  lands 
revert  to  the  original  families  who  had  owned  them. 
But  ye,  with  your  forged  bills  issued  on  shmn  secu- 
rity, buy  up  the  lands  of  the  people,  and  torture  their 
souls  with  rents  heavier  than  the  worst  taxes  of  the 
Old  world,  and  for  the  people  of  the  American  God, 
•that  is  the  God  of  Nature,  there  is  no  jubilee  of  resti- 
tution, the  wrong  done  is  eternal ! 

But  it  is  not  now,  that  I  can  say  all  that  I  have  to 
say  on  these  subjects.  I  was  speaking  of  the  sufier- 
ings  of  Columbia. 

This  is  no  common  fiction  of  the  day — for  those 


THE   FAIR    SLAVE   OF   THE   LAMP.  421 

who  can  understand  it,  there  is  deep  truth  slumber- 
ing beneath  its  wildest  extravagances. 

That  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  accomplished 
and  learned  and  adorable  ladies  in  the  land,  should 
suffer  day  by  day  the  most  intense  anxiety,  for  the 
mere  means  of  subsistence,  that  such  a  being  should 
live  in  constant  danger  of  becoming  a  beggar  and  a 
dependent,  may  seem,  to  gross  minds,  a  very  simple 
casualty. 

To  me,  it  appears  a  horrible  sign  of  the  times, 
when  genius,  although  acknowledged  and  appre- 
ciated, is  yet  permitted  to  suffer.  Still  more  horrible 
it  seems  to  me,  that  that  genius  should  be  ever 
embodied  in  the  person  of  a  woman  ! 

But  you  are  writing  a  novel  ? 

A  novel  ?  O  wise  and  heroic  citizens  !  what  can 
the  poet  invent  half  so  thrilling,  half  so  worthy 
of  record,  as  the  simple  facts  of  the  life,  which 
whirls  and  seethes  and  groans  and  laughs  around 
us? 

"Who  knows,  but  for  Mrs.  Normer's  generous  affec 
tion,  that  the  blonde  Columbia,  the  very  type  and 
acme  of  the  American  :vvoman,  in  her  most  glorious 
perfection,  would  not  have  felt  the  actual  pangs  of 
hunger  as  others,  fair  loving  and  talented,  have 
felt  them  ?  ' 

Beware,  beware,  my  great  adopted  country !  that 


422  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE  LAMP.  V 

witli  liis  dying  breatli,  a  poet  does  not  curse  you  with 
tlie  eternal  insult — 'A  second  Europe. 

Starve  not  genius ! 

Wliat  if  it  he  liard  to  recognize  as  good  bills  and  ', 

pure  gold.     Better  to  support  a  hundred  lunatics  and  1 

loafers  in  idleness,  than  to  let  one  earth-born  demi- 
god fly  murdered  back  to  Elysium ! 

But  ohj  unutterable  horror  !  if  the  shade  of  Edgar 
Poe — for  example — should  ever  meet,  upon  the 
shores  of  Styx,  a  ghostly  queen  of  poetry,  and  she, 
fixing  her  starry  gaze  on  the  sombre  shade  of  Ame- 
rica's greatest  genius,  should  murmur  gently — "  Me 
too,  they  murdered !" 

Can  such  crimes  find  atonement  or  excuse,  in  lives 
by  Rufus  Griswold,  and  social  slanderers  of  the 
dunces  ? 

"l!^ever  more," — ^it  is  the  Raven  that  answers — 
"  Never  more !" 


RECONCILIATION.  423 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

KECONCILIATION. 

The  very  day  after  Columbia's  visit  to  her  step- 
mother in  the  Tombs — from  wliich  that  Lidy  was 
released  on  the  following  day,  as  it  appeared  that  she 
had  no  knowledge  of  her  husband's  doings — the  fair 
authoress  seated  herself  at  her  desk,  not  to  write — for 
Bhe  felt  too  ill,  too  depressed  in  mind,  too  utterly 
unhappy  to  write — ^but  to  calculate.  Her  only  hope 
lay  in  getting  payment  in  advance  from  some 
publisher,  and  the  very  demand  was  risking  the 
acceptance  of  the  article  by  the  magazine.  Yet 
what  could  she  do  ?  Her  friend  Mrs.  !N"ormer  was 
herself  distressed  for  money.  Two  of  her  best  rooms 
were  empty,  and  already  the  pretty  face  of  the  kind 
German  was  overcast  with  anxiety  and  care,  for  Mrs. 
Kormer  was  too  generous  to  be  more  than  prudent, 
and  unexpected  losses  had  of  late  impoverished  her. 

"I  am  not  fit  for  this  world,"  sighed  Columbia, 
"  its  horrible  necessities  are  too  much  for  my  lonely 
strength.     Great  evils  I  can  bear,  and  have  borne 


424  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE  LAMP. 

with  fortitude,  but  these  perpetual  stings  of  fortune's 
mosquitoes,  this  constant  dread  of  to-morrow's  contest, 
the  daily  battle  for  mere  existence,  kills  me  more 
than  even  the  gi'ief,  which  is,  in  a  manner,  my  chosen 
companion  to  the  grave.  C(?Lild  I  but  indulge  it  in 
tranquillity ! 

"  Let  the  strong-minded  ones  say  what  they  will,  I 
feel  that  woman  is  destined  to  lean  upon  man  for 
strength,  that  it  is  man's  highest  duty  and  mission  to 
sustain  her.  Oh,  how  I  wish  that,  but  for  a  single 
hour,  I  could  weep  upon  his  heart  and  then  smile 
from  his  arms  into  those  of  the  great  Physician. 
Yes  I  could  die  now — willingly,  how  willingly,  if  I 
could  but  once  more  see  him,  hear  him,  feel  his  kiss 
upon  my  lips." 

At  this  moment  there^  was  a  heavy  footstep  in  the 
corridor.  The  door  opened  and — Mondel  stood 
before  her ! 

For  an  instant,  each  of  the  pale  lovers  remained 
paralyzed  by  amazement,  and  half  suspected  an 
illusion  of  the  brain,  or  a  spectral  apparition  in  the 
altered  countenance  before  them — 

"  Why  ! — Mrs.  ISTormer — told  me  nothing  of  this — 

she  said  my  old  room  was  vacant — and  I  "- The 

bold  adventm'er  paused  from  excess  of  emotion. 

"I  had — not — the  remotest  idea" — stammered  the 
blonde  poetess,  vainly  attempting  to  rise  from  her  seat. 


EECOXCILIATION.  425 

"  Columbia,"  cried  Mondel,  springing  forward  and 
suddenly  clasping  the  adored  shape  in  his  arms,  and 
kissing  her  lips  before  she  could  even  think  of  resis- 
tance, "  My  dear,  dear  love !  my  adored  angel  of 
hope  !  spurn  me,  kill  nie,  if  you  will !  I  have  felt  one 
moment  of  happiness." 

"Dudley — dear  Dudley!"  said  Columbia,  and  at 
length  the  tears  of  the  fond  beauty  burst  from  their 
fountains,  and  she  wept  long  and  hysterically  in  the 
arms  of  her  intoxicated  lover. 

"She  called  me  Dudley!"  murmured  Mondel,  and 
he  felt  as  if  that  one  fact  was  in  itself  a  source  of 
infinite  ecstasy. 

"  You  have  returned  at  last !" 

"  You  desired  my  return  ?" 

"  What  else  ?— O  Dudley,  Dudley  !-' 

"  My  queen !" 

"My  world!" 

"  At  len2:tli  we  understand  one  another  !" 

"  JSTow  and  for  ever." 

4t  -»  4  •:<-  *  * 

"  "Well,  Mr.  Mondel,  have  you  returned  a  million- 
aire ?"  said  Mrs.  Tsormer,  when,  after  as  long  an 
interval  as  her  woman's  curiosity  would  allow,  she 
at  length  interrupted  the  wild  whispers  of  the  two 
storai-tossed  children  of  genius. 


426  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

"  I  always  keep  my  word,  madam,"  replied 
Mondel,  smiling. 

"Seriously?"  said  'Colmnbia,  who  amid  all  her 
wild  delights,  was  still  under  the  terror  of  the  spectre 
which  had  so  long  haunted  her. 

"  Seriously,  we  are  rich  beyond  my  most  sanguine 
wishes." 

"  We !  "  said  Columbia,  "  O,  Dudley !"  what  is 
wealth  between  us ! — ^Yet  how  glad  I  am  that 
it  is  so  !     How  much  I  have  suffered !" 

"  True — it  is  strange — you  are  here.  Your  father, 
your  step-mother  ?" 

"  My  tale  is  soon  told.  But  first  let  us  hear  your 
adventures." 

"  Then,  prepare  yourselves  for  a  long  story  !"  said 
Mondel,  and  with  both  Columbia's  hands  between 
his  own,  and  his  eyes  fixed  upon  hers,  he  com- 
menced a  minute  relation  of  those  events,  with 
which  the  reader  is  already  familiar. 

A  fortnight  later,  a  young  married  couple  were 

seen  walking  on   the  sea-shore   at  ,  so  radiant 

with  happiness  and   hope,  that   all  who  saw  them 
murmured  involuntary  admiration. 

They  were  Mondel  and  Columbia. 

"After  all,"  said  the  poet,  looking  gravely  into 
the  blue  eyes  of  his  superb  bride,  "it  is  a  grand 
thing  to  have  suffered  !" 


EECONCILIATION.  427 

"  It  teaches  us,  at  least,"  said  Columbia,  "  to  sym- 
pathize with  all  who  suffer." 

"  Angel !"  said  Mondel,  gaily,  "  you  are  now  an 
imperial  queen,  and  I  am  your  subject;  what  shall 
I  do  to  please  your  majesty?" 

"  Let  me  never  see  talent  in  distress  without 
relieving  it." 

"  Granted,  dearest,  and  when  we  come  down 
to  the  "lees  of  my  million,  a  second  visit  to  the 
golden  island  will  give  us  a  fresh  start." 

"By  the  by,  Dudley,  what  name  did  you  give 
to  the  island  ?" 

"  Love." 

"  Oh,  what  a  mockery !  what  a  profanation!" 

"  ISTot  at  all.  Wliat  was  the  Isle  of  Gold  but  a 
material  type  of  my  love,  which  was  a  power 
greater  than  even  gold  itself?  I  called  it  Love, 
because,  like  love,  it  seemed,  an  inexhaustible  trea- 
sure." 

"  But  love  and  gold  are  generally  antagonistic." 

"Kot  at  all.  There  has  been  more  gold  accu- 
mulated by  love,  than  by  any  other  cause.  Love  is 
the  spring  of  life — the  gi-and  motive — it  makes 
the  world  go  round,  you  know." 

"  Yes," — in  the  song. 

"  And  in  prose  too.  However,  it  is  a  poor  Cupid 
who  cannot  defeat  Mammon  in  single  combat !" 


428  THE    SLAVE   OF  THE  LA]VLP.  | 

"  You  tliink  love  omnipotent  ?" 

"  I  believe  love  to  be  God." 

"  Ob !  what  a  beautiful  shell !" 

"  Its  opening  reminds  me  of  your  lips." 

"  There  now,  you  are  drawing  in  the  sand  witb 
my  parasol  again.  Dudley,  I  declare  you  are  get- 
ting quite  a  monster !  this  morning  you  threw  my 
new  shawl  on'the  ground," 

"  Stop,  stop — that  smile  is  too  much  for  my 
philosophy,"  said  Mondel,  gazing  entranced  at  the 
graceful   beauty  of  his  wife. 

"  Yes,  flatterer,  to  escape  being  scolded. — ^ISTow 
what  shall  we  do  next  ?" 

"  Suppose  we  make  the  tour  of  Europe  and  spend 
a  year  in  Italy  ?"  said   Mondel. 

"Delightful!  I  wish  to  see  everything,"  said 
Columbia. 

"  I  wish  to  see  nothing,  but  yourself,"  said  Mon- 
del, playfully. 

"  Of  course,  it  is  your  duty  to  flatter !"  said  the 
fair  bride,  with  an  air  of  mock  importance — and  so 
they  trifled,  and  were  happy.  But  of 'course,  the 
reader  does  not  care  for  trifling. 


CONCLrSION. 


4:29 


CHAPTER  XXXn. 

CONCLUSION. 

"  "Well,  sir,"  says  the  CTirious  reader,  "  well,  sir  ?" 

"Well,  what  do  you  want  ?  says  the  author. 

"Why,  I  want  to  know  all  about  it,  of  course; 
what  became  of  the  whole  pile,  the  ultimate  end  of 
everybody  ?" 

But  this  is  a  modern  tale,  and  modern  tales  are 
not  like  the  old  seven  volume  romances. 

"How  so?" 

Why,  in  the  first  place,they  have  no  beginmng — 

"  Proceed,  sir." 

In  the  second  j)lace,  they  have  no  end,  they  are 
in  fact  all  middle.  • 

"And  mostly  middling,"  groans  the  reader,  of  an 
inquiring  mind. 

No  wonder — they  are  written  by  steam. 

"  Written  by  steam  ?" 

Yes,  my  dear  sir,  or  madam.  In  these  fast 
times,  the  nine  years'  correction  uf   Horace   is  as 


430  THE  SLAVE  OF  THE  LAMP. 

impossible  as  it  is  antiquated.     Mr.  L- ,  tlie  pub 

lisber,  calls  in  the  morning  on  Mr.  ]Sr ,  tbe  author. 

"  Mr.  N,,"  says  Mr.  L.,  "  I  wisb  you  would  write 
me  a  novel." 

"Certainly,"  says  Mr.  'N.,  "by  what  time  do  you 
want  itf 

"This  week  will  do,"  says  Mr.  L.,  "I  am  not  at 
all  in  a  hurry.  Here  is  a  thousand  dollars  in 
advance." 

"Thani:  you,"  says  Mr.  'N.,  "here  is  my  note  of 
hand  for  a  novel,  payable  seven  days  after  date." 

And  off  goes  Mr.  L.,  to  engage  seven  other 
authors,  to  write  seven  other  books. 

Mr.  I^.  rings  the  bell.  His  black  valet-de-ohambre 
appears,  and  is  dispatched  for  Mr.  Scribblum,  Mr. 
K.'s  private  secretary,  and  one  of  the  fastest  short- 
hand writers  in  America. 

Mr.  Scribblum  sits  down  with  a  ream  of  superfine 
paper  before  him. 

Mr.  ]Sr.  takes  a  seventy-five  cent  cigar,  lights  it, 
takes  three  turns  up  and  down  the  room,  and  begins 
dictating  his  novel  at  the  rate  average  of  one  hundred 
and  fifty  words  a  minute. 

Mr.  Scribblum  takes  down  the  whole  verbatim. 
In  two  days  the  novel  is  composed.  In  five  more  it 
is  copied  out  by  Scribblum  and  his  clerks,  and  with- 
out even  taking  the  three  days  grace  accorded  to  a 


CONCLUSION.  431 

promissoiy  note,  the  work  is  placed  in  Mr.  L.'s 
hands,  who  sends  it  hj  the  fastest  boy  in  the  cstab 
lishmcnt  to  the  printers,  who  sets  a  nuudred  com- 
positors to  set  it  np ;  on  the  following  day  it  is 
stereotyped,  and  within  a  fortnight  from  the  time  of 
Mr.  L's  suggestion,  the.. novel  is  in  the  hands  of  the 
reviewers,  who  blow  it  np  sky-high  in  the  next 
morning's  papers  and,  presto !  Mr.  N.  wakes  and 
finds  himself  famous,  Mr.  L.  becomes  a  millionaire, 
and  half  a  dozen  million  of  readers  are  made 
happy,  and  write  a  half  a  dozen  million  letters 
(luckily  prepaid)  full  of  compliments  to  the  author, 
who  instantly  resolves  to  buy  ten  square  miles  of 
Texas  for  a  city,  call  it  by  liis  name,  and  marry  the 
most  beautiful  and  adorable. 

But  stay,  let  us  stick  to  business  and  not  let  the  cat 
out  of  the  bag.  Who  knows  what  the  wonderfully 
successful  writer  may  do  about  the  twenty -four 
baskets  of  love-letters  frpm  anonymous  heiresses,  who 
take  it  for  granted  that  his  head  is  a  portrait  of  him- 
self, and  will  not  listen  for  an  instant,  to  the  simple 
statement  that  he  is  a  hump-backed  dwarf,  with  a 
hare  lip,  a  club  foot,  one  eye,  a  bald  head,  and 
deeply  marked  with  the  small-pox  ! 

But  what  of  that  ?  beauty  is  only  skin  deep,  and 
virtue  is  the  great  thing  after  all.  Luckily  the 
author's  reputation  as  a  saint  is  toojirmly  established 


432  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LAMP. 

to  need  puffing,    so  furtlier   comment  is  unneces- 
sary. 

Having  thus  let  the  reader  behind  the  scenes,  and 
shown  our  hatred  for  anything  resembling  humbug, 
we  beg  further  to  explain  that  the  modern  system  of 
novel  writiug  is  quite  correct,  and  strictly  in  accor- 
dance with  the  laws  of  nature. 

It  is  quite  useless  to  have  a  beginning  unless  it  be 
the  beginning,  and,  as  the  great  Knickerbocker,  in  his 
famous  history  of  New  York,  has  demonstrated,  the 
beginning  of  the  world  itself  is  involved  in  consider- 
able mystery. 

Next,  it  is  q^ite  impossible  to  end  a  story  which  is 
not  yet  really  ended.  So  that  the  reader  must  be 
content  to  take  our  romance  as  a  mere  slice  of  the 
great  pudding  of  creation,  a  fragmentary  episode  in 
the  history  of  the  world,  a  leaf  torn  from  the  T30ok  of 
life,  in  short,  and  make  the  most  of  his  bargain. 

Yet,  as  I  am  of  an  accommodating  disposition,  and 
have  made  such  a  hit  with  my  book — it  sold  twenty- 
five  thousand  before  it  was  written,  and  was  much 
admired  in  advance,  by  several  critics  who  read  it 
by  spiritual  manifestation — I  will  give  a  few  particu- 
lars which  have  lately  come  to  my  knowledge  respect- 
ing the  actors  in  my  fragment  of  a  drama,  by  way 
of  news  items  for  their  acquaintance. 

John    Berkeley    the    alterer,    counterfeiter,    and 


CONCLUSION.  4:33 

epecnlator  in  the  general  line,  growing  desperate 
from  liis  grief  at  Amelia's  infidelity,  turned  savagely 
respectable,  went  to  Australia,  started  a  bank,  and  a3 
many  a  tliief  in  Europe  has  ended  by  becoming  a 
spy,  became  a  highly  influential  financier,  railway 
director,  and  land  owner. 

Mrs.  Berkeley,  finding  that  she  had  made  two 
unliappy  marriages,  declared  hei*self  a  determined 
enemy  of  the  matrimonial  institution,  and  became 
successively  the  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend  of  a 
Roman  Catholic  bishop,  a  comic  actor,  an  importer  of 
hardware,  and  an  editor  of  a  newspaper,  which  last 
facetiously  informed  her,  that  though  she  had  "  been 
the  rounds,"  he  considered  her  a  very  capital  article. 
She  engaged  her  friend  the  editor  as  part  of  his  duty 
to  abuse  Mondel  and  his  poetry,  on  all  possible  occa- 
sions, and  notwithstanding  Columbia's  kindness,  told 
stories  about  that  angelic  woman,  which  are  too 
absurd  for  repetition. 

The  Professor  stuck  to  Mondel,  and  devoted  all  his 
energies  to  the  poet's  service,  acting  as  his  courier 
and  steward  wlien  travelling,  and  making  himself  an 
indispensable,  though  always  unobtrusive,  attendant. 
Little  did  the  general  European  public  imagine  that 
the  "  distinguished  Americans  "  were  attended  on  by 
a  man  capable  of  commanding  a  quarter  of  a  million 
of  dollai-s !    Eut  every  one  has  his  whim,  and  this  was 

19 


434:  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE  LAMP. 

tlie  Professor's.  Mendel's  kindness  and  their  voyage 
together  to  the  Isle  of  Gold,  bound  the  ex-robber  for 
ever  to  his  eccentric  Captain. 

ITor  was  the  Professor's  devotion  to  the  for- 
times  of  his  eccentric  leader  diminished  by  the 
discovery  of  his  adopted  children,  in  two  young 
proteges  of  Columbia,  who,  having  found  them 
starving  in  one  of  the  suburbs  of  'New  York,  had 
for  many  months  sustained  them,  even  in  her 
own  direst  distress.  By  the  care  of  Rivers  they 
were  placed  at  good  boarding  schools,  and  it  is 
not  impossible  that  the  pirate's  son  may  live  to 
be  an  ornament  to  his  country,  and  the  pirate's 
daughter,  the  belle  of  some  future  season.  "Wonder- 
ful is  the  meeting  of  extremes  on  the  great  web 
of  Destiny.  Man  tries  to  disentangle  its  threads — 
gives  up  the  fruitless  task,  observes,  accepts,  and 
wonders. 

Confidence  Bob,  who  only  had  three  wives, 
besides  one  in  Canada,  one  in  New  England,  and 
one  in  !New  Jersey — ^went  to  Texas,   and  married 

the    daughter   of  a  great    man    in  ,    who,    as 

he  confidently  told  his  son-in-law,  originally  emi- 
grated to  the  old  Texan  re^mblic,  because  "  he 
had  the  cursed  misfortime  in  Arkansaw,  to  hold 
A  fellow  just  three  minutes  too  long  by  the  throat, 


CONCLUSION.  435 

one  day  in  a  rough,  and  tumble  hog  fight."  Bob 
became  a  member  of  the  bar,  and  hoped  to  bo 
one  of  tlie  Legislature,  eventually,  and  was  con- 
Bidered  "  some "  down  there,  tl^ough  not  quite  a 
fighting  man  of  the  first  water. 

The  Slinker  eventually  slunk  into  a  small  retail 
business,  and  kept  a  corner  grocery  in  the  Eightli 
Avenue. 

The  most  noble  and  illustrious  Fitzgammon 
O'Bouncer,  after  many  assaults  repulsed,  did  not 
capture  Miss  Candlesoap  after  all.  He  fell  in  love 
witb  and  married  a  pretty  actress  of  riicflac's 
theatre,  and  finally  became  a  most  brilliant  writer  of 
comedies — especially  French  translations,  and  'ff'as, 
with  the  slight  drawback  of  being  perpetually  "  h/ird 
up  " — (so  hard  up,  that  some  cruel  wag  took  liim  off 

in  P 's  magazine,  in  an  article  under  that  envious 

title),  a-  very  successful  and  much  admired  man  of 
letters.  He  often  regretted,  when  carrying  the  car- 
pet bag  containing  his  wife's  costume  to  the  theatre, . 
that  he  had  sacrificed  to  love  the  chances  of  the 
great  Candlesoap  alliance.  But  it  was  not  to  be. 
Fate  determined  that  O'Bouncer  should  be  hard  up, 
and  despite  all  loans,  and  all  editorships,  farces,  and 
blank  verse  to  the  contrary,  hard  up  he  remained,  so 
far  as  intelligence  has  been  received  by  telegraph  at 


436  THE   SLAVE   OF  THE   LATtlP. 

the  office  of  this  novel,  up  to  the  time  of  going  to 
press. 

Peregrine  Cope  took  his  share  of  the  golden 
remnant  and  went  hack  to  Paris,  the  city  of  his  love, 
where  he  occupied  a  grand  hotel  in  the  Qn artier  St. 
Germain,  and  married  a  lovely  widow,  the  brilliant 
Comtesse  de  Henry.  He  was  one  of  the  esoteric 
contributors  to  Alexandre  Dumas's  Ifousquetaire, 
and  published  here  a  work  on  France  and  the 
French,  which  electrified  his  countrymen.  His 
"  Yoyage  to  the  Golden  Island"  is  also  a  very 
popular  book  of  travels. 

Mrs.  ISTormer.  enriched  by  Mondel's  gratitude, 
married  a  Major  in  the  U.  S.  Army,  who  had  long 
sought  her  hand,  and  lived  very  happily  with  her 
husband,  who  luckily  had  '^  faith  in  dreams,"  and 
raised  no  objection  to  prophecies.  But  she  never 
lost  an  opportunity  of  recounting  to  every  new 
auditor  the  wonderful  romance  of  her  two  literary 
tenants,  their  misfortunes,  their  love  and  ultimate 
prosperity,  l^or  did  she  ever  fail  on  the  first  of 
every  month  to  write  Mondel  and  Columbia  a  letter 
full  of  the  kindest  wishes  and  the  most  playful 
humor. 

Of  the  further  adventures  of  Mondel  and  Colum- 
bia themselves  I  shall  not  pretend  to  speak.    Their 


CONCLUSION.  437 

happiness  I  leave  to  the  imagination  of  those  who, 
like  them,  have  loved  and  loved  grandly,  with  the 
whole  force  of  their  being  and  the  whole  passion  of 
their  souls. 


THE    END, 


A    WORK    OP    GREAT    MERIT!! 

LILY    HUSON: 

AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  AN   ORPHAN   GIRL. 
BY    ALICE    GKEY. 


A  viM  0  life-like  story,  eminently  calculated  to  interest  the  feel- 
ings of  ilie  reader.  It  "will  often  excite  to  laughter,  but  more 
frequently  move  to  teai"s,  and  alternately  touch  every  sentiment  of 
tlie  soul.  Lilt  Huson  is  a  tale  of  real  life.  The  characters  por- 
trayed, still  live  and  play  their  part  on  the  ■world's  stage.  And 
although  Alice  Grey  has  cunningly  concealed  their  real  names  and 
positions,  we  fancy  that  many  of  her  readers  "will  be  able  to  see 
through  the  veil  which  hides  their  identity,  and  readily  to  reeognize 
them.  We  venture  to  assert  that  no  person  will  read  the  opening 
chapter  of  this  remarkable  autobiography  without  following  the 
heroine  through  the  stoi-y,  sympathizing  in  her  distress,  weeping 
■with  her  over  her  misfortunes,  and  rejoicing  in  her  success.  As  a 
book  for  the  family  library,  Lily  Huson  will  have  no  superior.  It 
may  be  read  aloud  in  the  family  circle,  and  the  lessons  it  inculcates 
"wiU  sink  deep  into  the  heart,  leaving  good  fruit  behind.  Real  life- 
pictures  possess  more  actual  romance  than  the  wildest  flights  of 
fancy  and  fiction.  Domestic  tales  have  now  taken  a  permanent 
place  in  the  world  of  light  litei-ature.  The  novel  has  become  an 
instructive  book — and  the  former  prejudice  against  it  has  subsided. 
Mothers  now  place  it  in  the  hands  of  their  children,  and  clergymen 
have  been  heard  to  recommend  it  from  the  pulpit.  Among  all  the 
popular  tales  of  the  day — pictures  of  woman's  love  and  suffering, 
of  woman's  courage  and  virtue,  painted  by  woman's  hand — none 
will  be  found  to  possess  greater  attraction  than  the  autobiography 
»ow  advertised. 

This  work  will  be  publiohed  in  1  vol.  12rao.  cloth.    Price,  $1,00. 
H.  I.O]\C}  &  BMOT£I£R, 

121  Nassau- Street,  New  York. 


A  Very  Itttcrcslln^  Rook  for  Everybody.    Seven  Tliousand 
Copies  Sold  in    Three  AVccks. 

The  Great  Book  of  the  Day! 

THE 


BY    LADY    SCOTT, 


ETC. 


AUTnOE     OFTnE     "HEN-PECKF.  D     HUSBAND, 

Complete  in  One  Volume. 

This  work  is  superior  to  the  former  Novel  by  this  lady,  -which  had  so  extensive  a  Ealc 
and  was  so  extremely  popular  in  this  country.  For  sublimity  of  sentiment,  cliastenesa 
of  tone,  lively  wit,  deep  pathos  and  extensive  knowledge  of  the  secret  springs  of  tho 
human  heart,  THE  PRIDE  OF  LIFE  has  no  superior  in  the  entire  range  of  book 
publishing.  Those  who  have  read  •'  The  Hen-Pecked  Husband"  will  need  no  further 
incentive  to  induce  them  to  purchase  the  present  work,  which  is  superior  to  even  that  ii\ 
ever  changing,  fascinating  interest.  Others  will  have  a  treat  before  them  in  their  first 
introduction  to  this  charming  authoress. 


The  Pride  of  Life. — This  is  the  title  of  a  new  novel,  by  Lady  Scott,  autnor  of 
"The  Ilen-Pecked  Husband."  'i'his  work  has  received  very  fl.-itierins  encomiums  from 
the  ICnglish  press;  and  with  one  accord,  it  is  pronounced  superior  to  tho  former  novel  by 
this  lady,  which  had  so  extensive  a  sale  in  tliis  country.  For  sublimity  of  sentiment, 
chasteness  of  tone,  lively  wit,  deep  pathos  and  extensive  knowledge  of  human  n;'turc, 
tho  Pride  of  Life  has  no  superior  in  the  range  of  modern  book-publishing.  The  Edin- 
burf  Review  pronounces  it  "  such  a  book  as  we  seidorn  meet  with  in  these  days  of 
morbid  sentimentality — true  to  life  and  nature  throughout." — Lancaster  Intelligencer 
and  Journal, 

The  Pride  of  Life.  A  Novel,  by  Lady  Scott. — Tn  all  respects,  we  regard  this  work  .as 
ttie  superior  of  its  immediate  predecessor,  "The  Hen-Pccked  IIu.sband."  The  plot  is 
more  ingenious,  the  characters  are  more  skillfully  painted,  and  the  scenes  and  incident-, 
are  more  exquisite  and  pointed.  The  book  is  true  to  nature,  throughout,  and  possesses 
a  keen  and  vivid  afflatus,  which  pervades  every  page  like  a  November  atmosphere.  Tho 
authoress  thinks,  reasons,  describes  and  argues  like  a  true-hearted  and  pure-minded 
woman,  and  if  she  finds  it  necessary  to  deal  a  blow,  does  it  with  the  same  grace  and 
honesty  as  if  she  were  uttering  a  compliment.  Read  the  volume  and  save  it  for  the 
children. 

TiiE  Pride  of  Life.  Byliady  Scott. — This  is  a  powerfully  written  work,  and  those 
who  have  read  the  ""  Hen-Pecked  Husband,"  by  the  same  author,  should  purchase  and 
read  this  book. — Philadelphia  Sundny  .Mcrr.jtri/. 

The  Pkide  of  Life.  A  Novel.  By  Lady  Scott. — This  book  must  not  be  classed 
with  the  trashy  fictions  so  abundant  at  the  present  day.  It  is  written  with  power, 
pathos  and  refined  sentiment,  and  depicts,  in  away  "to  point  a  moral"'  for  the  reader's 
profit,  the  workings  of  one  of  the  master-passions  of  the  human  heart. — Heading  (Jazctte 
and    Democrat. 

This  Is  a  chiming  story,  elegantly  \rritten  and  very  interesting.  Indeed  it  is  said  to 
be  the  best  prWuctinn  of  the  fair  author.  We  commend  it  to  the  perusal  of  our  friends. 
It  is  neatly  printed. — livffnln  Daily  Urpuldir. 

The  Pride  of  Life.  By  Lady  Scott. — The  "Hen-Pecked  Husband,"  by  the  author 
of  Ihis  stiiry,  was  very  favorably  received  by  the  novel-reading  community.  It  was  liked 
for  its  liveliness,  humor  and  purity  of  description.  The  latest  production  of  Lady  Scott 
will  command  more  admiration  than  its  predecessor.  It  is  a  well  written,  lively  and 
very  interesting  talc,  which  is  managed  with  ability. — Sundaij  Dcgpalc/t. 

NEW   YORK: 
LONG    AND    BEOTHER, 

121    NASSAU-STREET. 


JET, 


Also  for  sale  by  Booksellers  throughout  ihe  United  States  and  C'anadas.    Price,  in  paper 
covers,  1  volume,  6U  cents.    Bound,  75  cents. 


^11  t|c  Uhth  luHl  pna  t|ts  ^ook !!! 

TO  SEND  BY  MAIL  TO  ANY  ONE  ON  KECEIPT  OF  ONE  DOLLAR. 

THE 

LIFE  AND  BEAUTES 


1^  ^sM) 

In  One  Vol.  12mo.  Cloth.    Price  $1.00. 


WHO  IS  RUTH  HALL? 

3CJS  s^xj'S'xx  x3:-^^Xj.2Ls  :E"-A.i*a-2>a-"5r  E-Es^taKT 

OR   SOMEBODY  ELSE? 

AND  IF  FANNY  FERN  IS  NOT  RUTH  HALL, 

WHO  IS  FANNY  FERN  ? 


THE    LIFE   AND   BEAUTIES    OF  FANNY   FERN 

is  now  before  the  public,  and  the  world  will  be  enlightened.  And  this 
BOOK  a  strange  tale  unfolds. 

The  present  work  is  authentic  in  all  its  details.  Tliose  who  have  read  the 
advance  copy,  pronounce  it  the.  wittiest,  spiciest  book  of  the  season.  It 
presents  vivid,  life-like  pictures  of  the  cliarming  and  brilliant 

AUTHOR  OF  FERN  LEAVES  AND  RUTH  HALL, 

at  her  own  fireside,  in  the  Editor's  Sanctum,  in  the  street,  at  Church,  and 
everywhere,  and  in  every  position  she  is  the  same  fascinating  woman. 

In  this  volume,  several  of  Fanny  Fern's  efforts  appear  for  the  first  time  in 
book  form.  The  reader  will  find  that  they  possess  the  same  a^active  fea- 
tures which  ciiaractcrize  all  her  productions.  They  are  alternately  witty 
and  pathetic,  caustic  and  soothing,  sparkling  and  pensive.  No  other  author 
has  succeeded  so  well  in  touching  the  finer  chords  of  the  heart. 

Price  for  the  complete  work,  handsomely  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  is 
One  Dollar  a  Copy  Only.  Copies  of  the  above  work  will  be  sent  to  any 
person,  to  any  part  of  the  United  States,  per  first  mail,  free  of  postage,  on 
their  remitting  One  Dollar  to  the  publisher,  in  a  letter,  post-paid. 

Published  and  for  sale  by 

H.  LONG  &,  BROTHER,  121  Nassau-St.,  N.  Y. 

And  all  booksellers. — To  whom  all  orders  must  be  addressed  to  receive 
prompt  and  early  attention. 


A    COMPAIVIO]^    TO    TIIK    I.AIflPJ^ICJISTEK. 


THE    WAT( 


"  WAICIIMAN  !    TELL   U3    OF   THE    NIGHT." 

Founded  upon  Facta  of  Real  Life,  illustrated  by  Living  Characters,  many  of 
whom  will  be  readily  recognized. 

NEW  YORK: 
II.   LONG    AND    BROTHER, 

121   NASSAU-STREET^ 
Tub  VVatcuma:*  vill  be  published  in  1  vol.  12ino.,  illustrated,  price  §1,00. 


CELEBRATED  AHD  UHIVEESALLY  POPULAR  WORK  !! 


DOW   JE.'S 


121    NASSAU  STREET. 

This  Work  is  published  in  three  volumes.    Paper  covers.    Price  50 
cents  per  vol. 

A     LIBRARY     EDITION, 

Beautifully  bound,  in  three  volumes,  cloth,  price  75  cents  per  volume.  Copies 
Mailed  on»i-eceipt  of  price.     Address  as  above. 


A  COMPANION  TO  THE  "DIARY  OF  A  PHYSICIAN." 
DR.  AVAIlltKN'S   OUEAT  WORK. 


; 


OR, 


STRAY  LEAVES  FROM   MY  JOURNAL, 

BEING    8KETCUi:S   OF  TUB    MOST    INTEUESTINQ    IlEMINISCKNCES    OF  A.  UKTIUED    I'HYSICIAN. 


^ rm..   mm  'L,, 


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^^^T.*'^ 


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THS  OLD  DOCTOn  IN  nig  LinHAIlr. 


§c:iutifulliT  Illustrated. 


<  ^»  >  ■ 

No-rio^s    0=    -r\-\<=.    RRESS. 

"  The  riiVfeielan,  more  lliaii  any  olliur  man,  has  the  oppiirUinily  of  slndylnj;  the  human 
minil,  n!  liim-s  \vli<'ri  all  K:\\<v.  pn*teiisic>ii»  arc  tliniwii  ai'iilo.  In  thesu  skoli'hos.  Ilui  rcailfr  is 
iutr()iliii;i,Ml  111  a  varii'ly  of  ctriract<T3.  portrayi!-.!  uniler  variinis  clrciirnstaiiccs.  In  hitalih  ami 
in  siolUK^s-*,  in  pro-^pvrily  ami  in  ailveriity,— uiul  oaoh  cliarjoter  i3  dclicaloly  and  gr;ipliirally 
portniyi'd." — 'Viiivs. 

"  A  poworl'iilly  wrillon  wo-lc,  defiidcMlly  n  book  for  leisure  readins;.    liivoly  and  pallietlc 
l>y  tarns,  and  of  a  cliaractc-r  lliul  will  securo  it  u  place  on  tlio  shulvos  of  every  clioico  libr.iry."  . 
—JiiU.rnil, 

'•  A  book  that  uppoals  to  the  kind&<<t  Ryinpathifi3  of  the  reader  ;  eniinoTttly  calcnlatod  1« 
cull  forth  ail  the  flnur  chorda  of  foulinsf  in  favor  of  beuuvoluiiCti  aud  universal  philanthropy." 
—Oazctle.  • 

^.«.« 

NEW  YORK:   H.  LONG  &  BROTHER,  12 1  NASSAU  STREET. 


TiiK  Old  Doctor  i»  published  in  one  volume.  Paper  covert.,  50  cents  ;  or  bound  in  clotk, 
ITicints — both  editiuns  beautifully  illustrated.  Copies  mailed  on  receipt  0/ prite,  {jrot' 
paid-^  addressed  as  above. 


A  ROMANCE  FOUNDED  ON  FACT-A  WOEK  "WORTH  BEADING. 


THE  LAWYER'S  STORY; 

Or,  THE  ORPHANS'  WRONGS. 

A     DEEPLY     INTERESTING     NARRATIVE,     FOUNDED     ON     FACT. 
BY   A    MEMBER   OF   THE    NEVA/   YORK    BAR. 


5Brimtifalli|  Sllustrnkl 


This  story  opens  with  a  scene  in  New-Yorlj,  only  a  few  years  ngo,  in  which  a  brother  and 
Bister,  the  hero  aud  the  heroine  of  the  story,  are  introduced  by  tlio  lawyer,  in  a  condition  of 
honest  poverty.  He  furnishes  them  with  temporary  employment,  but  subsequently  loses 
eight  of  them  until  they  are  recalled  to  his  recollection  in  consequence  of  his  reading  an 
advertiseraant  respecting  them  in  a  Philadelphia  newspaper,  which  hints  that  they  are  heirs 
to  large  property  in  England,  as  well  as  in  the  United  States.  With  some  difficulty  the 
lawyer  traces  them  out,  and  determines  to  take  their  case  in  hand;  but  for  a  long  lime  his 
efforts  are  fruitless,  in  consequence  of  Jesuitical  machinations,  employed  by  some  of  the 
noble  relatives  of  the  brother  aud  sister,  who  desire  to  get  the  property  into  the  clutches  of 
the  Church.  The  young  lady  falls  temporarily  into  the  power  of  Jesuitical  agents  in  this 
country,  but  is  rescued  just  as  she  is  on  the  point  of  being  despatched  to  Italy,  to  be  placed 
in  a  convent,  through  the  compassion  of  a  servant.  Eventually  they  arrive  in  England,  and 
the  lawyer  undertakes  to  watch  over  their  interests,  aud  at  the  same  time  obtains  the  assist- 
ance of  an  English  lawyer  of  eminence. 

However,  Jesuitical  and  aristocratic  influences  still  prevail  against  them,  and  the  two 
scoundrels,  of  the  Quirk,  Gammon  and  !?nap  school,  named  "Gripes  and  Oheatem,"  are 
employed  by  their  titled  relatives  to  throw  every  obstacle  in  their  way,  aixl  for  a  long  time 
they  succeed.    At  length,  however,  truth  prevails,  and  the  story  ends  happily. 

The  narrative  bears  on  the  face  of  it  an  Impress  of  truth;  certainly  the  author  has  dis- 
played a  profound  knowlege  of  human  nature  in  all  its  phases,  and  without  having  his 
interest  in  the  story  weakened  by  any  gross  exaggeration  or  improt)ability,  the  reader,  when 
he  lays  the  book  aside,  will  xmcousciously  tliiuk  of  the  adage — '"Truth  is  strange — stranger 
than  Fiction !" 

NOTICES  OF  THE  PPtESS. 

"The  Lawyer's  Story. — It  is  written  by  an  eminent  retired  lawyer,  many  of  the  fticts 
recorded  in  which  came  under  his  own  observation,  and  the  characters  are  all  drawn  from 
real  life.  The  plot  of  the  story  is  briefly  this: — George,  the  Fourth  of  England,  when  the 
Prince  Regent,  gave  Henry  Fitzherbert  an  estate  from  the  Crown  lands.  The  Prince's  right 
to  bestow  lands  were  involved  in  dispute,  and  Fitzherbert  came  to  America,  where  he  died. 
His  two  children,  a  sou  aud  daughter,  are  the  principals  of  the  story,  and,  after  many  vicis- 
situdes and  trials,  through  tlie  aid  of  the  American  lawyer,  they  were  finally  place<l  in  pos- 
session of  the  estate.  The  details  aud  incidents  of  the  storj-  are  of  thrilling  iuleres-t,  although, 
for  obvious  reason^,  in  certain  instances,  names,  dates  and  localities  are  changed ;  yet  in 
one  or  two  instances  these  are  closely  adhered  to.  The  work  has  receive<l  high  encomiums 
from  literary  gentlemen  and  others,  whose  praise  is  not  lightly  awarded.  The  book  has  been 
published  in  elegant  form,  suitable  for  a  family  library,  and  its  tone  throughout  is  chaste, 
while  the  plot  and  incidents  are  highly  amusing  and  instructive." — Daily  PaUadhim. 

''TiiK  Lawyer's  Story. — The  author  is  a  member  of  tlie  New  York  bar,  and  his  story 
purports  to  be  a  narrative  of  facts.  The  point  of  the  tale  is  the  restoration  of  a  brother  and 
sister,  Americans,  to  their  rightful  heritage  in  England,  against  the  oppositions  and  intrigues 
of  a  powerful  lirilish  nobleman.  The  incidents  possess  much  interest,  and  are  certainly 
remarkable  'if  true,'  enough  so  to  verify  the  old  saw  that  ' truth  is  stranger  than  fiction.' " 
— t\tchburg  lUvcille. 

"Thk  Lawyer's  PTrRv. — This  work  is  founded  on  facts,  many  of  which  came  under  the 
author's  personal  knowledge;   the  principal  characters  are  drawn  from  real  life;  and  the 
interest  of  the  whole  is  well  kept  up  fhrouL'houl  the  entire  progress  of  the  story.     It  is  pub-  , 
lished  in  elegant  form,  and  its  tom^  Ihrouuhout  is  chaste,  while  the  plot  and  incidents  aro  ' 
highly  amusing  and  instructive." — Jjaily  Tribune, 


H.    LONG    &    BROTHER, 


Published  in  one  volume — beautlf^dl'j  bound,  price  75  cents.    In  paper  covers,  price  50  cent** 
Cnies  mailed  on  receipt  of  price,  post  paid,  addressed  as  above. 


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